The tri-weekly standard. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1866-1868, 1866-04-21
Selected Poetry.


sion of them while in caIap,just before the
Termination of the late war" IN o. Times.
ssTHE FALLEN.''
The iron voice from yonder spire has hushed its
hollow tone,
And midnight finds me lying here, in silence and
The still moon through the window sheds its soft
light on the floor,
With a melancholy paleness I have never seen
And the summer wind comes ever with sad e >lear
lay,
As if hurthened with the sorrows of a weary
But the moonlight cannot soothe me from the
sickness here within, .
And the sad wind takes no portlon OF my posoin
weight OF sin.
Yet my heart, with all its pulses, seems so quietly
That scarcely feel them beating in my arms or
in my breast; I'm
And these rounded limbs are resting now, so still
One Would think to see me here, that was lay
What # itwere so9 What if I died as I am lying
With something like to Virtues calm upon this
What if died to night? All! no,o this pulse be-
gins to beat
fallen wretch like me to pass from earth so sad
ly sweet
Yet, am I calm? AS sweeping clouds that wildly
float and form
In dark mass, to give their strength W soLue
IMPLYING storm.
As calm las some parched desert ere the slmoom
sweeps its waste,
Or as the ocean, ere its white waves all us SHORES
have traced. -,
Still, still have no tears to shed, these eyeids
have store,
The fountain once within them Is a FOUNTAIN ItOe
no more; =,
The moon alone weeps for me now-the pale, the
She weeps for fallen Annie through all the nights
sweet noon.
What if died tonight! and when to-morrow's
sun has crept,
When late the mellow moon, so calmly, in virgin
They'd come and find me herel Oh, who would
weep to see me dead?
Who'd bend the knees of sorrow by the pulselcss
wanton's bed?
There's one would come-my-my mother. God
bless the angel band
That led her ere her daughter fell to yonder quiet
Thank God for all the anthems the gladdened an
When my mother went to heaven, and was pure
and young.
Yes, there's another too would come, a man upon
NV shame has brought the winters snow to rest
so heavy now.
Yes, he would come, with manhoods tears all
burning down his check.
How strange the throne of reason stood, when
virtue proved so weak.
My sisters and my brothers-all, thank God, are
They'll never hear how died the that mingled
in their play;
sister died
The one that smiled whene'cr they smiled, and
cried whence they cried.
But am all alone-how strange that should be
alone,
This splendid chamber seems to want some roues
wOnted tone.
Yon soulless, knocking mirror, with its smooth
untarnished face
Hath seen these jeweled arms tonight in no I'M
chlste embrace;
For have fed, forever fed, the heated, crowded
hall,
Where might claim the gayest and richest of
them all
Where might smile upon them, with awanton's
Subduing all the virtue that would struggle to my
face.
on the street;
I could spurn away the pressure my lips too often
meet
could trample on the lucre their passion never
spares
For / once possessed heritage of greater price
And earth can never give back what 1 have
thrown away,
The brightest jewel woman wears throughout her
little day
The brightest and the only one that from the clus-
Shuts out forever Woman's heart from all hopes
of heaven.
What if I died tonight, within these gilded,
Upon whose crimson trappngs no eye of virtue
falls?
What would its soulless inmates do when they had
found ME here,
With checks too white for PASSIONS smile, too
pale for PASSIONS tear?
All would come and from these arms would
wrench these golden bands,
Another wrench these sparkling gems from off my
quiet hands;
This splendid robe another form would grace, oh
long before
The moonlight of another night should sleep upon
the floor.
And when they laid me down in earth, where
paupers' graves are made,
Beneath 10 bending willow, with its angc-haunt-
ed shade,
Who'd come and plant flower DER poor friend
less Annic's grave?
Or trim the tangled wild grass no summers wind
can wave?
Who'd raise stone TO mark its place from ruder
That the passing strangers footballs may be soft
upon the ground.
No stone would stand to mark it, no little wooing
tree,
No hand would plant flower Ter a fallen thing
like me.
What if I died tonight? What if I died while
lying here?
There's many green leaf withered ere the autumn
Full many a dew drops shaken down, yet The
sunshine came,
And manya sleeping spark hath died. ere waken'd
What if my soul passed out, and sought that
heaven of the blcst,
Where the wicked from troubling, and the
weary at rest.
Would angels call me from above, and becllon me
to come
And join them in their holy songs in that celestial
home?
Would they clasp their hands in gladness when
they my soul set free?
And point beside my mother to place reserved
for me?
Would they meet me sister, and one of dear
est worth,
Who had won place in Heaven by her holiness
earth?
Oh, God would not have my soul go out upon
the air,
With all its weight of wickedness, to wander
where? oh, where?
The Louisville Journal lets off the follow
ing bunch of sky-rockets:
WeSwish that the women would make up
on themselves anti-stay law.
Happy remarks are often made by very I'M
happy men,
n, or, cannot foo eoor have