Washington sentinel. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1853-1855, 1854-10-12
The Closing Scene.
BY t. BUCHANAN READ.

r .
The North British Review pronounces this
American author:
Within this sober realm Of leshess trees,
The russell year inhaled the dreamy air,
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease,
When all the fields are lying brown and bare.
The gray barns, looking from their 'hazy hills,
Ger the dim waters widening irptne wales,
Sent down the air a greeting 10 the mills,
On the dull thunder Of alternate fails.
All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued
The hills seemed farther, and the stream sang
As in a dream, the distant woodman hewd How;
His winter log, with many muaied blow.
TIL embattIed forests, erewhile armed in gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood, like some sad beaten host Of old,
Withdrawn afar in Times remotest blue.
On slumb'rous wings the vulture tried his fight
The dove scarce heard his signing mates com
And like star, slow drowning in the light Tpiant
The village churchvane seemed TO pale and faint
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew;
Crew thrice and all was ster than before
Silent till some replying wanderer blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no more.
Where erst, the jay within the ems tall crest
Made garrulous trouble round the unfedged
young;
And where the oriole hung her swinging nest
BY every light wind like a censor swung,
Where sang the noisy masons ofthe caves,
The busy swallows crcling ever near,
Forebodng, as the rustic mind believes
An early harvest and plenieous year;
Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn
To warn the reapers Of the rosy east;
e..
Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail,
And croak'd the crow, through all the dreary
Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale. [groom I;
Made echo TO the distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers
The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by
The thistledown, the only ghost ofhowers, might;
Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless out Of sight.
Amid ell this-in this most cheerlcss air,
And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch
Its crimson leaves, as il the year stood there,
Firing the floor with his inverted torch
Amid all this, the centre Of the scene,
The whitc-haired mairon, with monotonous tread
Piled the swift wheel, and with her joyless mein,
Sat like Fate, and watched the flying thread.
She had known sorrow. He had walked with her.
on suppcd, and broke with her the ashen crust
And, in the dead leaves, still she heard the stir
OF his black mantle trailing in the dust.
While yet her cheek was bright with summer
bloom,
Her country summoned, and she gave her all
And twice, war bowed TO her his sable plume
Re-gave the swords, 10 rest upon the wall.
Re-gave the swords--but not the hand that drew
And struck for liberty the dying blow;
Nor him, who TO HE sire and country true,
Fell mid the ranks Of the invading foe.
Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on,
Like the low murmurs Of hive al noon;
| Long, but not loud, the memory ofthe gone TUNE
Breathed through her lips sad and trcmulous
At last the lhTead was snapped, her head was
how'd;
Life dropped the disiafTthrough his hands serene;
And loving neighbors smothed her careful shroud,
While Desth and Winter closed the Autumn
scene.