Arizona miner., 1868-04-18
The Closing Scene,

The North British Rericr pronounces this the . pest rociu that has ever been written by au Amer. ,an author
 Within this sober realm of leafless trees The tusset year inhaled the dreamy air, Like some tanned reaper in bis hour Of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare . The gray barns looking from their hay hills, ! Der the dim water, widening iu their wales, Sent down the air a greeting Co the mills, On the dull thunder Of alternate fails. All sights were mellowed, and all sounds sub.
 dued, The hills seemed farther, and the streams sang
 low As in a dream, the distant woodman hewed His winter log with many muiilcd blow The embattled forests, cicwhile armed in gold, Their banners bright with ever martial hue, Now stood, like some sad beaten host of old, Withdrawn afar in Times remotest blue On stump'rous wings the vultue tried his flight, The dove scarce heard his signing mates com.
 plaint,
 And like a star, slow drowning in lile light, The village church-yane seemed to pale and
 faint.
 The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew; Crew thrice and all was stller than before Silent till some replying waudercr blew His alien horn, aud then was heard no more. Where cyst the jay within the elm's tail crest Made garruious trouble round the unacdged
 young,
 And where the oriolc hung her swinging nest, By every light wind like censar swung Where sung the noisy masons of the caves, The busy swallows circug ever near, Forcbodiu- as the rustic mind believes, An early harvest and pleutious year. Where every bird that charmed the verua, feast, Shook the sweet slumber from it's wings ai
 morn,
 To warn the reapcrs of the rosy East, All now was songless, empty and iorlorn. Alone, from out the stubJle piped the quail, And croalled aud crow, through all the dreary
 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 woye their thin shrouds night by
 night;
 The thistle-down, the only ghost Of flowers, Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless out Of sight. Amid all this-in this mos, cheerless air, And where the woodbne sheds upon theporch 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,
 Piled the swift wheel, and with her joyless mien Sat like Fate and watched the flying thread. She had known sorrow. He had walked with
 her,
 on supped, and broke with her the asheu crust And, 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. and sine gave ner all And twice war bowed tO her his sable plume; Re-gaye the swords to rest upon the wall Re-gaye the swords-but not the had that drew And struck for liberty one dying blow; Nor him, who to, the sire and country true, Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe. Long, but not loud, the dronng wheel went on Like the low muJniers of hive at noon. Long but not loud, the memory of the gone, Breathed through her lips q sad and tremuiou
 tune
 At last the thread was snapped; her head Wa
 bowed;
 Low dropped and distaf through her hand
 serene;
 And loving neighbors smoothed her carefI
 shroud,
 While Death and Winter closed ihe Auium
 scene. IT BueAaaan Reed