Semi-weekly standard. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1853-18??, 1865-02-03
meeklg Stanhara,
THE oLoSRG q GENE.
BY 7 3 zen NkN BAD. /


The North British Rssssso pfoncunces this poem
he best that has ever bssf written BY an Ameri-i
an suthofs "a 1,
Within his sober realm of isaRess trees
The russet year inhaled the dfsImy air;
like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease,
sWhenati the fields are lying brown and bare
The gray barns looking from their ha1y hRIs
50serthe dim waters widening u thSSalssS
Sent down the air greeting to Ike MATS
0uEths dull thunder of alternate fails -
An sights we're melloued, and all sounds sabdaea,
The hills seemed farther and the streams sang low;
As Ia dream thu dist mt woolm "a hewd =
His winter log With many mufied blow.
tn suIbattIsd 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Withdrawn afar in Times remOtest blue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 slumbrOns wings tAe,vulture tried bis fight;
Thsdoss scarce heard his signing mates complaint;
Aud like astar; slow drowning in the light
The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint
The sentinel cock upon his hillside crew leg. =.
Grew thrice, and all Was stilIsr, than before-N
Silent till some replying Warder blew 81. 1
His Alien hornSand then was heardino more
whsle eFst the jIy, wthiu the eIm's tall crest,
Made gsrralpus trouble round Lsrzu1tsdes4-
Ap9kzhers thes5fsOlslAang her swaying nest,
By every light wind like a censor swung
Where sang the noisy masens OF the caves,
The busy swallows circling ever near,
Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest, and pleuteous year.
Where every bird which charmed. the vernal feast,
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn,
To warn the reaper of the rosy east
All now WAS songless, empty, and fOrlorn
Alone, from out the stable piped the quail,
And croaked the crow through all the dreamy gloom;
Alone the pheasant drumming in the vale,
Made echo tu the distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloam upon the bowers;
The spiders wove their thin shrouds night by night
The thstle-down. the only ghost of flowers,
Sailed slowly by-passed uOseiess out of sight.
Amid all this-in this most cheer less air,
=. And where the woodbiue shed upon the porch
Its crimson leaves if the year stood there;
Firing the floor with his inverted torch
Amid aF this, the center of the scene,
The white. haired matrun, with mOnotOnOus tread,
Piled the swift wheel, au with her jOyess mein,
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;
Aud 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, aud she gave her all;
And twice, War bowed to her his sable plume
Rergave the sword, to rust upon her wall.
Re gave the swords-but not 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 murmurs of hive at RDop;
Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone
Breathed through'her lips sad and tremuiOus tune.
AT last the thread snappsd head luas bo"d;
Life dropped The dstaff through his hands serene,-
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud,
While Death aud Winter closed the Autumn scene.