The Kansas herald of freedom., 1855-06-02
eboice Poetry.
The Closing Scene.
pYr. BrcuAxAs REED.

Within this sober realm of leafiess trees
The russell year inhaled the dreamy air,
like some tanned reaIer IN his hour of case,
W hen all the fields are lying brown and bare.
The grav barns. looking from their lazy hills,
Ger the dim waters wid;niug i'll the wales,
Sent down the air greeting to 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
low;
As in a dream, the distant woodman hew'd
His winter log, with many niufaed blow.
Th' embattled forests, erewhiIe armed in gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood, like some sad barren host of old,
Withdrawn afar in Times remotest blue.
On slumb'rous wings the vuIture tried his fight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mates COM
plaint;
The village church vane seemed to pale and
faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hill side crew;
Crew thrice, and all was sti!ler than before
Silent till some replying wanderer blew
Ills alien horn, and then was heard no more.
Where erst. the jay within the elnns tall crest
Made garrulous trouble round the unfedged
young;
And where the oriole hung her swinging nest,
BY every light wind like u censor swung;
Where sung the noisy masons of the caves,
The busy swallows circling ever near,
Foreboding, rs the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and prosperous year;
Where ev'ry bird which charm'd the vernal feast,
Shook the sweet sluinb'r from his wings at morn
To warn the reapeFs OF the rosy east;
All now was songless, empty and forlorn.
Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail,
And croaked the crow through all the dreary
gieom;
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 wove their thin shrouds night by
night;
The thistle-down, the only ghost of flowers,
Sailed slowly by; passd Il noiselessly out Of sight
Amid all this--in this most checrless air,
And where the woodbine sheds upon the porcl
It's crimson leaves, as il the year stood there,
Firing the floor with his inverted torch
Amid all this, the center of the scene,
The white-h haired matron, with monOtonoui
tread,
Piled theswift wheel and, with her ioyless mien
Sat ike Fate, and watched the flying thread
She had known sorrow. lie had supped with her
Oftsapped, and broke with her the ashen crust
AllC, Ill Tile ucQ leaves Stlll SIG nesru TIE SUI
Ofhis black mantle trailing i'll the dust.
While yet her cheek was bright with SUMMED
bloom,
Her country summoned, and she gave her all
And twice, War bowed to her his sable plume;
Re-gaye 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 hin, who TO his sire and country true,
Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe.
Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went ON
Like the low Eurmur of II hive at noon;
Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone
Breathcd through her lips sad aud tremulou
tune.
At last the thread was snapped, her head wa
bowed;
Life dropped the distaff thro' his hands serene
And loving ueighbors smOothed her careful
shroud,
While Death and Winter closed the Autumn