Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1870-12-13

The CLOSING SCENE.

Within the sober realms Of leafess trees,
The russell year inhaled the dreamy air,
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease,
When all the fields lying bare and brown.
The gray barns looking from their hazy hills,
O'er the dim waters widening in the wales,
Sent down the air greeting to the mills,
On the dull thunder of alternate fails
All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued,
The hills seemed farther and the streams sang
low;
AS in dream the distant woodman hewed
His winter log, with many muffied blow.
TIL embattled forests, erewhie armed in gold
Their banners bright with every martial hue, =
Now stood like some sad beaten host & old, :
Withdrawn afar in Times remotest blue.
On slumberous wings the vulture tried his flight,
The dove scarce heard his signing mates COM
plant;
And like a star, slow drowning in the night,
The village church-vane seemed to pale and faint
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew;
Crew thrice, andsll was stiller than before
Silent till some replying wanderer blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no mora.
nncre- CRIT the jny within the elIa's tall crest
Made garrulous trouble round her unAsdged
young,
And where the oriole hung her swinging nest,
By every light wind like censer swung;
Where the noisy masons Of the caves,
The busy swallow circling ever near,
Foreboding the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and pleanteOus year.
Where every bird which charmed the vernal feast,
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn,
To warn the reapers of the rosy east;
All was now empty and forlon.
Alone, from out the stubble pped the quail,
And croaked the 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 wove their thin shrouds night by
night;
The thstle-down, the only ghost of flowers,
Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless out of sight
Amid all this-in this most cherries air,
And where the woodbine sheds upon the porch
Its crimson leaves as if the year stood there,
Firing the floor with its inverted torch
Amid all this, the centre Of the scene,
The white haired matron with mOnot0nous tread
Piled the swift wheel and, with her joyous mien
Sat like a Fate, and watched the flying thread.
She had known sorrow. He had walked with her
OF supped, and broke with her the ashen crust
And, in the dead leaves, still She heard the stir
OF his black mantle trailing in the dust.
While vet her cheek was bright with summe.
bloom
Her country summoned and she gave her all
And twice war bowed 10 her his sable plume,
Bc-gave the sword to rest upon the wall
Re-gaye the sword-but not the hand that drew
And struck for liberty the dying blow
Nor him. who, to his sire and country true,
Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe.
( Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on
Like the low murmurs Of a hive at noon;
Long, but not loud, the memory Of the gone
Breathed thro' her lips, a sad and tremulous tone
/ At last the thread was snapped, her head wa
bowed
Life dropped the distaff throuhg his hands serene
And loving neighbors snoothed her careful
shruud,
While Death and Winter closed tho scene.