Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1872-07-30
pOterp
The Closing Scene.
~ T. n. BREAD.


The following is pronounced by the Westminster
Review to bs unqucs,onasly the finest American
poem ever written:
Within the sober realm of leallsss trses,
The russes year Inhaled the dreamy air;
Like some tanned reaper, in hts hour OF ease,
when all the fields are living brown and bare.
The gray barns lookiu from their haEy hills
o'er tho limn waters widening ia the wales,
Sent dowa the air greeting to thu mills,
Ou The dull thunder OF alternate fails.
All sights were mcllowed and all sounds ssbdued,
The hill. seemed further and the streams sang
low,
4, IN 4 dream the distant wOodulsu hswed
Ills winter log with many muiiled blow.
TIC embaIlled forests, orcwhile armed with gold,
Their banners bright with many a martial hue,
Now stood like some sad, beaten host OF Oh
Withdrawn altar ia times reIuotest blue.
On slgmbrOus wings the vulture tried hs hisht;
The dove scarce heard his sighns maiv.
plalnt
And. like star slow drowning in tho light,
The village church y2ne seemed Ia paie aud
faint.
The seutinel cock upon the hillside crew
Crew thrice--and all was stllvr than before;
si.cut, tiil some replying warden blew
His alica horn, and then was heard no ,noru.
Where era' the jay, within the eln'S tall crs,t
Made garrulous around her unnedged young,
Aud where the oriole hung her swaying nest,
3, every light wind like a ccusor swung.
Where ,aug the noisy martins Of the caves
Tho busy swallows circling ever hear
Evscbodins, ~ the rustic mind believes,
Au early harvest and picntcIus wear;
WArr,. every bird that walked Ihe vrrnai feast,
~Eoos ,h~ sweet siumber rrom II, Wing. -
morn,
IL warn the reaper VI the rO.y east,
All now Was songless, empty and io'loI"'
A!oao from the stubble. lipei The quail,
Aud uOAkel the crow through all .he dfs-r.
gloom,
Alone, the pheasant, drumming IN the rslo,
Made echo ia The distance To the cottage loom.
There wa, no bud. no bloom upon Ihe bowers.
The spiders vo,c their thin shroud7 nigh; sy
nisht;
The thistle dosn. the enly shost OF flowers,
S,iled slowly by-passed noisleD out ot eight.
Amid AL ihis-ia the most "a, cary air,
And where the woodbine shed upon the posch
IT. crimson leaves, As II the year stood there
Firing the floor with It's inverted torch,
Amid all this, the centre ot The scene,
The ~hite-haired matron with monoionou,
tread,
Piled the swifi wheel, and with her joyless meln
SAT- like y fate, aud watched the dying thread
Shs had known sorrow. lie had walked with her
on supped aud broke with her the ashen crust,
And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir
OF his black mantle trailing in the dSst.
While yet her cheek MAS bright ~iIh summer
bloom,
Her country summoned, and che gave her ALL
Aud twice war bowed to her his ,able plume
lie gave the sword to rust upon the wall
Re gave the ,wori, but not the hand that drew
And struck tor liberty the dying blow;
Ner him, who 10 his sire and country true,
Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe.
Long, but not loud, the droninS wheel vent on,
Like the low marmur Of q hive at noon;
Long buI not loud, the memory Of the gone
Breathed through her lips sad and tremalous
tone.
~ last the thread was snapped, her head was
bowed,
Lite dropped the dlstan through her hands -,
rene;
And loving neighbOrs smOoth-d her careful shroud.
While death and winter closed the autumn
scene.