Middletown transcript., 1869-01-09
Srlrtt poetrp.
THE CLOSING YEAR.
BY GEORGE D. PRENTICE.

'Tis midnghts holy hour-and silence now
Is broodng, like gentle spirit, oer
The still and pulseess world. Hark on the winds
The bells deep tones are swelling: It's the knell
Of the departed year. No funeral train
Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood,
With melancholy light the moonbcams rest,
Like pale, spotlcss shroud; the air is strrr'd d,
AS by mouiner's sigh; and on yon cloud,
That floats so still and placidly through heaven,
The spirits of the seasons seem to stand,
Young Spring, bright Summer, Autum's solemn
form,
And Winter with his aged locks, and breathe
In mournful cadences, that come abroad
Like the far wind-harps wild and touching wall,
melancholy dirge DER the dead year,
Gone from the earth forever. 'Tis a time
For memory and for tears. Within the deep,
Still chambers of the heart, spectre dim,
Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time,
Heard from the tomb Of ages, points its cold
And solemn finger to the beautiful
And holy visions that have pass d away,
And left no shadow of their lovelness
On the dead waste of life. That spectre lifts
The coflin-id of hope, and joy and love,
And bending mournfully above the pale
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead
flowers
Der what has pass'd to nothingness. The year
Has gone and, with it, many glorious throng
of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow,
Its shadows in each heart. In its swift course.
1t waved its sceptre DER the beautiful,
And they are not. 1t laid its pallid hand
Upon the strong man. and the naughty form
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim
II trod the hall of revery, where throng'd
The bright and Joyous, and the fearful vail
Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song
And reckless shout rcsounded. Itpass'd DER
The battle plain, where sword and spear and shield
Flash d in the light of midday-and the strength
VI serricd hosts is shiver' d. and the grass,
Green from the soil of r., ruare waves above
The crush'd and mouldering skeleton. 1t came
And faded like wreath of mist at eve;
Yet, ere it melted in the vlewless air,
1t heralded its millions to lis home.
In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless Time
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe-wliat power
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt
His iron heartto pityq On, still on,
He presses, and forever. The proud bird,
The condor of the Andes that can soar
Through heavens unfathomable depths, or brave
The fury of the northern hurricane,
And bathe his plumage in the ihunder's home,
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks
down
To rest upon his mountain-crag,-hu Time
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness,
| And nights deep darkness has no chain to bind
| His rushing pnion. Revolutions sweep
Ger carth like troubled visions o'or the breast
Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink,
| Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles
3p'inE, "l"HhSt iToW INC oce'iilj anu 20 DUCK
| To their mysterious caverns mountains rear
To heaven their bald and blacken'd cliffs, and
bow .....
Their tall heads to the plain; new empires rise,
Gathering the strength of hoary centuries,
And rush down like the Alpine avalanche,
Startling the nations; and the very stars,
lon bright and burning blazonry of GuD,
! Glitter while in their eternal depths,
And, like the Pleiad, loyelicst of their train,
Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away,
TO darkle in the trackless void yet Time
Time the tomb-buildcr, holds his fierce career,
Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauscs not
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path,
TO sit and muse, like othe conquerors,
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought.