Memphis daily appeal. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1847-1886, 1869-11-14
A SCENE.
BY T. REID.

~
fThe following Is pronounced by the Hesf-
a,iasier Rer4esr rs the finest American poem
ever writtcnl
Within the sober realms ofleahess trees,
TIN russell year inhaled the dreamy air;
Like some tanned reaper In his hour OF ease,
when all the 1e'ds are lyiag brown and
bare.
The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills,
Ger the dun WateTs widening Ia The wales,
Sent down the abr 4 greeting 70 the mills,
On the duh thunder Of alternate fails
All sights We're mellowed, and all sounds sub
The hills seemed further and the streams
sang low
As in a dream, the distant woodman hewed
Ills WinteF log with many a ntufied blow.
Tie embattled forests, erewhIle armed with
gold.
Theft banners bright with martial hue.
Now stood like some sad. beaten hosts OF old,
withdraw afar in Times reInotest hue.
On saInbre wings the vuIlure tried HIS lights;
h dove scarce heard his signing mates
complaint;
And, Ike a star slow drowning in the light,
The village church yane seemed to pale and
faint
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew
Crew thrice-and all was stiller than before.
Silent, TIL some replying warder blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no more.
Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest
Made garruIous trouble round her unfedged
young,
And where the orioIe hung her swinging nest,
By every light wind for q censor swung;
Where sang the noisy martins OF the caves,
The busy swallows circling ever near
Foreb0ding, Is the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and a plenteous year.
Where every bird that walked the vernal feast,
Shook the sweet slumber from It's wings at
To warn the reaper OF the rosy east
All now WAS sunless, empty and foriorn.
Alone. from out the stubble. plped the quail;
And erOakod the crow through the dreary
Alone. tie pleasant. drumming in the vale,
Made echo IN the distant cottage room.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers;
The spiders moved their thin shrOuds night
The thistle-down, the only ghost Of flowers,
sailed slowly by-passed notseless out OF
sight
Amid all this-in this most dreary air,
And where the woodbine shed upon the
It's crimsan leaves, as II the year stood there,
Firing the floor with its inverted torch.
Amid all this-the centre OF the scene.
The whlte-hatred matron with monotonoUs
Pied the swift wheel, and with her joyous
Sat like a fate, and watched the dying
thread.
She had known sorrow-he had walked with
on sGpped and broke with her the ashen
And in The dead leaves sim she heard the sir
OF hts Thick mantle trailing in the dust.
White yet her cheek was bright with summer
Her country summoned and she gave heI
all;
And twice war bowed to her his sable plume
Re-gnve the sword to rust upon the wall
Re-gave the sword, but not the hand that
drew
And struck for liberty the dying blow;
Nor him who, 70 his side and country true,
Fell mid the-ranks Of the invading foe.
Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went
on,
Like the low murinurs OF a hive Al noon;
Long. but not loud, the memory OF the gone
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremu-
lous tune.
Al last the thread was snapped-her head was
bowed,
Liz. dropped the distaT through her hands
serene,
And loving ,~neighbors smooth her careful
shrOud,
While death and winter closed the autumn
scene.