Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1870-03-11
EVEN .SON G..


OF Autumn's burthened vain
Time, that is heir to all our earthly state,
And knoweth we'll to wait
Till sea hath turned to shore and shore to sea,
If SO it needs must be,
Ere he make good his claim and call his own
OLD empires overthrown-
Time, who can find no heavenly orb too large
To hold its fee in charge,
Nor any notes that fill its beam so small,
But he shall care for all
It may be, must be-yes, he soon shall tire
This hand that hollis the Tyre.
Then ye who listened in that earlier day
When to my careless lay
I matched its chords and stole their frst-bo m
thrill,
With untaught rudest skill
Vexing treble from the slender strings
Thin as the locust sings
When the shrll crying child Of summers heat
Pipes from his leafy seat,
The dim pavilion of empowering green
Beneath whose shadJwy screen
The small sopranst tries his single note
Against the song birds throat,
And all the echves listen, but in vain;
They hear no answering strain
Then ye who listened in that earlier day
Shall sadly turn away.
Saying, "Thc fire burns low, the hearth is cold
That warmed our blood of old ;
Cover its embers and the half burnt brands,
And let us stretch our hands
Over brighter and fresh kinded flame;
Lo, this Is not the same,
The joyous singer of our morning time,
Flushed high with lusty rhyme!'
Speak kindly, for he bears II human heart
But whisper him apart
Tell him the woods their autumn robes have
And all their birds have fed,
And shouting winds unbuild the nests
They warmed with patient breasts;
Tell him the sky is dark, the summer DER
And bid him sing no more!
All, wclladay if words so cruel-k kind
A listening ear might find!
But who that hears the music in his soul
OF rhythmic waves that roll
Crested with CLEANS of fire, and as they flow
Stir all the decps below
Till the great pearls no calns might ever reach
Leap glistening on the beach
Who that has felt the passion and the pain,
The rush through heart and brain,
The joy 50 like pang his hand is pressed
Hard on his throbbing breast,
When thou, whose smile is life and bliss and
Hast set his pulse afame.
Muse of the Tyre can say farewell to thee?
Alas and must it be?
In many a cline. in many a stately tongue,
The mighty bards have sung;
To these the immemorial thrones belong
And purple robes of song;
Yet the slight minstrel loves the slender tone
His lips may call his own,
And finds the measure of the verse more
Timed by his pulses beat,
Than all the hymnings of the laureled throng,
Say not do him wrong,
For Nature spoiIs her warblers, s,-thcm she
feeds
In lotus growing mcads
And pours them subtle draughts from haunted
streams
That fill their souls with dreams.
Full we'll know the gracious mothers wiles
And dear dcusive smiles
No callow iedgllng of her singing brood
But tastes that witching food,
And hearing overhead the eagles wing,
And how the thrushes sing,
Vents his exiguous chirp, and from his nest
Flaps forth-we know the rest.
own the weakness OF the tuneful kind
Are not old harpers blind?
l sang too early. must l sing too late?
The lengthening shadows wait
The first pale stars of twilght,-yet how
sweet
The fat'e erin whispers cheat
"Thou hast the IRE no evening chill tame
Whose Goals outlast the lame!"
Farewell ye carols of the laughing morn,
OF earliest sunshine born
The so FER HinpS the ed and looks NOT hacL
Along his f..rrowed track;
The reaper leaves the stalks for other hands
To grid with circlng bands
The wind, earth's careless servant, truant- born
Blows clean the beaten corn
And quits the threshing floor, and goes his
way
To sport with oceans spray;
The headlong- stumbling rivulet scrambline
down
To wash the sea -girt town,
Still babbling of the green and billowy waste
Whose salt he longs to taste,
Ere his warm wave its chilling cl sp may fec
Has twirled the miller's wheel.
The song has done its task that makes us bolc
With secrets else untold
And mine has run its errand; through thu
dews
tracked the flying Muse;
The daughter of the morning touched my lips
With roseate fnger-tps;
Whether l would would not, I must sing
With the new choirs of spring;
Now, as | watch the fading autumn day
And trill my softened lay,
think of all that listened, and of ono
For whom a brighter sun
Dawned at high summers noon. All, com
rades dear,
Are not all gathered here?
Our hearts have answered. Yes they heal
our call
All gathered here all all
%. W. Holiness in Atlantic MonfhIv