Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1872-06-27
.: .: ~ y tIsk. tssk,i FISK BROS, Publishers
THE CLOBING SCENE.
BY T. BUCHANAN READ.

BY T. BUCHANAN READ.
The North BritishIecve,c pronounces this poem the
best that has ever been written by American au-
thor:
Within this sober realm of leahess trees,
:, The russet year inhaled the dreamy air,
Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease,
When all the fields are lying brown and bare
The gray barns, looking from their hazy hills
Der 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 melowed. and all sounds subdued,
The hills seemed farther and the streams sang low
As In dream, the distant woodman hew,d
His Winter log, with many muffied blow.
Th embattled forests erewhiie armed In gold
The banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood, like some sad beaten host of old
Withdrawn afar In Times remotest blue.
On slumb'rous wings the vulturc tried his flight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mates complaint
And like STAR slow drowning in the light,
The village church vane seemed to cale and faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew;
Crew thrice. and all was stiller than before
Silent till some replying warderer blew
His alien horn, and then was heard no more.
Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest
Made garruous trouble around the undedgcd young,
And where the oriole hung her swaying nest
BY every light wind like censer swung.
Where sang the noisy masons Of the caves
The busy swallows crcling ever near,
An early harvest and plenteous year.
Where every bird which charmed the vcrnal feast
Shook the sweet slumber from its wings at morn,
To warn the reapcrs Of the rosy east
All now was songless. empty and forioii.
Alone, from out the stubble pped the quail, ,.s
And croak'd the crow, through all the dreary gloom
Alone, the pheasant drumming in the Vac,
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 thisue-dowh the only ghost of flowers, . : .
Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless out of sight.
Amid all this-in this most cheerless air,
And where the woodbne sheds upon the porch
Its crimson leaves, If the year stood there, .1
Firing the floor with his inverted torch .lt' -,
Amid all this, the center OF the scene, s.H Fi'5
The white-haired matron. with mOnotOnous tread
Piled the swift Wheel and, with her jovless mep
Sat like Fate and watched the flying thread. az
She had known sorrow. He had walked with her '
Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen crust,
Aid, 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 she gave her all, 80,
And twice wnr bowed to her his sable plume; .'''
Re-gave the swords to rest upon the wall EtN
Rc-gave the swords-but not the hand that drew
Nor him, who to his sire and country true, tN"
Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe. ~, s
Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on,
Like the low murmurs of O hive at noon 'E .t--
Long, but not load, the memory of the gone, g..
Breathed through her lips sad and tremulous tune.
At last the thread was snapped her head was how'd;
And loving neighbors smoothed her careful shroud.
While Death and Winter closed the Autumnal scene.