Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1865-11-29

heUlet7 10 De unquesuOnaDly the nnest American
poem ever 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 all the fields are lying brown and bare.
The gray barns looking from theI hazy hills,
Der the dun waters winding in the wales
Sent down The air q greeting to the mills,
On the dull thunder Of alternate fails.
The hills seemed further and the streams sans
low,
As in a dream the distant wOcdmau hews,
His winter log, with many mufied blow.
The embattIed forests, erewhiIe armed with gold
- Their banners bright with ever martial blue.
Now stood like some sad, beaten host Of old,
Withdrawn atar IN Times remOtest blue.
On sombre wings the vulture tried his fight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mate's com
And, like star slow drowning in the Iisht.
The village church Yane seemed to pale and
faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew
Crew thriee-and all vas stiller than before;
Silent till some replying wGrder blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no more.
Where erst the jay, within the el ms tall cres'.
MADE garruious trouble round her untedgec
And where the oriole hung her swayinsn nest.
by every light wind like censer swung.
Where sang the noisy martins Of the caves.
The busy swallows eirelinc near
FoTeboding. as the rustic mind believes.
An early harvest and a pienteOus year.
Where every bird that walked the vernaI feast.
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn;
10 warn the reaper Of the busy lust:
All now was sunless, empty and foriOrn
Alone, from out the stub5le piped the quail:
And eroaked the Glow through al the dresTy
Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale.
Made echo IN the distant village loom.
There was no bud. no bloem upon the bowers;
The spiders moved their thin shTouds night by
The thistle down. the only ghost Of flowers.
Sailed slowly by-passed nCiseless out Of sight
Amid all this-in this most dreary air.
And where the woOdbine shed upcn ID porch
Its crimson leaves. as if the year stood there
Firing the floor with its inverted torch.
Amid all this, the centre of the scene.
The white haired m matron with mcnotonuus i-ead
Piled the swift wheel, and with her j0yless mcln,
Sat like fate, and watched the flying thread.
She had known sorrow. He had walked with her
OFT supped, and broke with her the asheu crust
And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir
Of his thick mantle trailing in the dust.
While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom
Her country summoned and che gave her an:
And twice war bowed 10 her in sable plume
Re-gave the sword TO rust upon the vail
Re-gaye the sword, but 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 dropping wheel went on.
Like the low murmur Of q hive at noon:
Long, but lOnd. the memory of the gone
Breathed through her iiOs sad and tremuious
tone
At last the thread was snapped-the head va.
bowed,
Life dropped the distaf through her hands se-
rene,
Ard loving neighbors smoothed her care full shreud
While death and winter closed the autumn scene