Buchanan County bulletin. [volume] (Independence, Iowa) 1869-1891, 1872-05-31
THE CLbsINo SCENE.
Br +. ,. READ


las fitting tribute to the memory of Thomas
Read, we reproduce his best poem.l
Within the sober realms of leafess trees
The russell year inhales 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,
Ger the dull 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 sub
dued, 600
The hills seemed farther, the streams sang low,
As in dream the distant woodman hewed
His winter logs with many mufiled blow.
The embattled forests ercwhile armed with gold,
Their banners bright with every martial hue,
Now stood like some sad, beaten host of old,
Withdrawn afar in Times remotest blue.
On somber wings the vulture tried his flight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mates COM
And, fike a star slow drowning in the light
The village church vane seemed to pale and
faint.
The sentinel cock upon the hillside crew
Crew thrice-and all was stiller than before;
Silent, till some replying warder blew
His alien horn, and then was heard 10 more.
Where erst the jay within the elm's tall crest,
Made garrulOns trouble round her un1iedgcd
young;
And where the oriole hing her swaying nest,
BY every light WIND like a censor swung.
Where sang the noisy martins of the caves,
The busy swallows circling ever near;
ForebOdng, as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest aud Il plenteous year.
Where every bird walked the vernal feast,
Shook sweet slumber from its wings at morn; /;
To warn the reaper Of the rosy East;
NnnS IN nHfV and
Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail
And croaked the crow through all the dreary
gloom;
Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale.
Made echo in the distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers:
The spiders moved their thin shrouds night By
The thistle down the only ghost of flowers,
Sailed slowly by-passed noiseless oat of
sight.
Amid all this-in this most dreamy air,
And where the woodbine shed upon the porch
Its crimson leaves as if the year stood there;
Firing the floor with its inverted torch.
Amid all this--the center of the scene,
The white-haired matron, with moEotonous
tread;
Piled the swift wheel, and with her joyous mien,
Sat like a fate, and watched the # ying thread.
She had known sorrow--he had walked with
her,
Oft supped, and broke with her the ashen
crust,
And in the dead leaves still she heard the stir
OF his thick mantle trailing in the dust.
While yet her check was bright with sumner
bloom;
Her country summoned as she gave her all:
nd twice war bowed 10 her his sable plume
ARe-gave the sword to rust upon the wall.
Recaye the sword, but not the hand that drew,
And struck tor liberty the dying blow:
Nor him who, to his sire and country true.
Fell mid the ranks OF an invading zoe.
Long, but not loud, the droning wheel went on,
Like the low murmur of hive at noon;
Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone
Breathed through her lips sad and trcmu-
lOus tone.
At last the thread was snapped--her head was
bowed,
Life dropped the distaff thro' her hands serene,
And loving neighbors emoothed her careful
While death and winter closed the autumn
scene.