The Buchanan County guardian. (Independence, Buchanan County, Iowa) 1858-1864, 1858-09-16
THE CLOSING SCENE.
BIZ r. BUCHANAN REED.


The following b pronounced BY the Westminster Re
written:
Within the sober realms Of leafess trees,
The russet year inhaled the dreamy air;
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease,
when oil the fields are laying brown and
es bare.
The gray barns, looking from their haxy hills
Ger the dun waters, widening in the wales
Sent down the airA greeting to the mills, ! /
On the dull thunder of alternate fails &
All sights were mellowed, and all subdued
The bills seemed further, and the stream sang
low a Is
As in dream the distant woodman hewed
His winter log, with many muffied blow.
The embattled forest, ere while armed in gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood like some sad beaten host Of old,
Withdrawn ATARI in Times remotest blue
On sombre wings the vulture tried her fight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mates
complaint
And like star slow drowning in the light,
faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew
Grew twfce-and all was stiller than before !:
silent till some replying warder blew
his alien horn, and then was heard no more
Where erst the jay, within the elms tall crest
Made garulous trouble round her unfedged
young.
And where I'll The oriole hung her swaying nest
BY every light wind like a censor swung.
i s4-s8
Where sang the noisy ,martins, Of the caves.
Fcrboding. as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and plenteous year..
Where every bird which charmed the vernal
Shook the sweet slumber ftom its wing at
To warn the reapess Of the rosy east
All now was soul-less, empty and sorlorn.
Alone. from out the stuBble. piped the quail;
And croaked the crow thro' all the dreary
gloom: psat
Alone the pheasant drummed in the vail,
Made echo to the distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers
The spiders move their thin shrouds night
by night,
The thistle down. the only ghost Of flowers.
Sailed slowly by-passing noiseless out Of
sight.
Amid sll this-in this most cheerless air,
And where the woodbine shed upon the porch
Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood there,
Firing the floor with his inverted torch
Amid all this, the centre Of the scene,
The white haired matron with monotonous
tread, 49, 4, M ss ass ~
Piled the swift wheel. and with Joyous mien,
Sat like Fate and watched the flying thread
She had known sorrow. He had walked will,
OF supped. and broke with her tho ashen
crust
And ia the dead leaves still she heard the stir
Vi 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 was bowed to her his sable plume
Re-gave the swori TO rust upon the wall.
Re-gaye the swosa but not the hand that
Il And struck for liberty the dying blow
Nor him who to his sire and country true,
Fellmid the ranks Of the invading foe.
Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on
Like the low murmurs Of the hive at noon !;
Long, but mot loud. the memory Of the gone
Breathed thro' her lipsa sad and tremulou
tune.
AT hast the thread was snapped. her head wa
bowed, bsH
Life dropped the distaf thro' her hand
serene:
And loving neighhors smoothed her careful
shyoud,
While death and winter closed the autumn seen.