New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1858-11-13
atb Orleans DAILY 0restent.
sATLRDAY MORNING, N0vGNRER b. 10.
The cloaing soane
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By T. BUcHAEAs READ.

By T. BUCHANAN READ.
Within the sombre realms Of leaRess trees.
The russell year inhaled the dreamy air:
Like some tanned reaper in his hour Or ease
When all the hazy fields are brown and bare.
The gray barns, looking from their lazy hills,
Der the dun waters, widening 10 the Vales
Sent down tine air greeting to the mills,
On the dull thunder Of alternate fails.
All sights we're mellowed and all sounds subdued;
The hills seemed further, and the streams sang
low,
As in dream the distant woodman hewed
His winter log, with many mufted blow.
The embattled forest, erewhile armed in gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood like some sad, beaten host Of old,
Withdrawn afar in times ren0test blue.
On sombre wings the vulture tried her fight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mates com
plant
And like a star, slow drowning in the light,
The village church yane seemed tOpale and faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew
Crew thrice-and all was stller than before
Silent, till some replying warden blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no more,
Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall crest,
Made garrulous trouble around her unfedged
young,
And where the oriole hung her swaying nest,
By every light wind like censor swung.
Where sang the noisy martins of the caves,
The busy swallows circling ever near
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest, and plenteous year.
Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast
Shook the sweet slnmber from its wings at morn
To warn the reapers of the rosy east
III SunIpsa pmnfV and f0rlorn
Alone! from out the stubble, piped the quail,
And crooked the crow through all the weary
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 wove their thin shrOuds night by
night,
The thistle down, the only ghost of flowers,
Sailed slowly-passing noiseless out Of sight.
Amid all this-in this most cheeress air,
and where the woodbine shed upon the porch
It's 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,
Piled the swift wheel, and with her Joyous mien,
Sat like Fate and watched the flying 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
OF his dark 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 sword to rust upon the wall,
Regave the sword-but rot the hand that drew,
And struck for liberty the dying blow;
Nor him, 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 murmers of hive at noon
Long but not loud, the shade OF memory gone
Breathed through her lips d sad and tremuIous
tune.
At last the thread was snapped-her head was
bowed
Life dropped the distaff through her hands Sc
rene;
And loving neighbOrs smoothed her careful shroud
While Death and Winter closed the autumn
scene.