The daily Minnesota pioneer. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1854-1855, 1854-11-30
SAINTsPAUL:
Thursday Morning, Novemserso, sS4.
The Closing scene.

1Ac OAOSbm8 0CcRCs
7. BUCHANAN READ.
The North British Review prononnces h poem the bes
tb,t has been written By an American author.
Within this sober realm Of leaness trees s-'4 -.
The asset year inhaled the dreamy air. ti 4
Like some tame'l per in his hour Of ase
When all the fields are lying brown and barre
Tie gray baras looking from, their hazy hills,
Der the dim watera widening in the wales, \
Send down the air u greeting o the mills, -'f'
TN the duh thunder Of alternate Raih.
All ~ishts were melowed, and all sounds suliued
The hills seemed farther, and the stream sang low;
As in dream the distant woOdmzn hew'd
His winter log with many muHled blow.
Tn emtatted forests erewl,ile armed in gold
Their banners bright with sy martial hue,
Now stood like some sad beaten host oi Obj,
Withdrawn afar in Times remOtcst blue
On ,lumb rcus wing the vulture tried his fight
The dove scarce heard his signing mates complaint
And like star, slow drowning in the light,
The village church vane seemed to pale and faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew;
Crew thrice and all stiller than before
Silent till some replyng wanderer blew
His alien horn, and then MAS heard no more.
Where erst the jay within the elm tall crest,
Made garruous trouble round the unhedgcd young
And where the oriole hung her swinging nest,
BY every light Wind hike a swung.
Where sang the noisy mansions of the eavcs,
The busy swallow circling near,
ForebU.iing the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and plentcous yexfs
Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast,
shook the sweet slumber from his wings at morn,
To weern the reapcrs of the rosy east
All now songless, empty and iorlorn
Alone. from out the stubbie piped the quail
And cracked the crow, through all the dreary gloom
Alone the pheasant, drumming In the vale,
Made echo to the distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers:
The spiders their thin shrouds night by night
The thistle-down, the only ghost Of flowers,
tiiIed slowly by-passed noiseess out OF SIGHT.
Amid all this-in this most cherries air.
And where the wOodbine sheds upon the porch
Its crimson leaves, As if the year stood there,
Firing the Aoor with his inverted torch
Amid all this the centre Of the scene,
The white haired ma trOn with monOtonous tread
Piled the swf. wheel, and with ajoyless men.
Sat like a fate, and watched the aying thread
She had known sorrow He had walked with her,
Oft supped and broke with her the ashen crust,
And, in the dead leaves STILL she heard the STIR
or his black mantle trailing in the DUST
While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom,
Her country summoned, and she gave heraR;
And twice war bow ed to her his sable plume;
Re-gave the swords, to rest upon the wall.
Re gave the swords-but not the hand that drew
And struck for liberty the dying blow
Nor him. who 10 his sire and country true,
Fell mid tire ranks Of the Invading fOc
Long but not loud the droning Wheel went on
ylke the low murmur of hire at noon;
Long but not loud the memory Of the gone
Hreathed through her lips sad and trcmulous tune
A, last the thread was snapped her head how'd;
Iif dropped the distaf through his hands serene
Aud loving neighbOrs smoothed her careful Stroud.
While Death and Winter tl'sed the Autumn scene