The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1874-01-23
THE CLOSING SCENE.


THE following poem is pronounced by the
Westminster Review 10 be, unquestionabIy.
the finest American poem ever written.l
Within the sober realms OF leafiess frees
The rusSet Year inhaled the dreamynir
Like some tanned reaper, In his hOur OF erS,.
When all the fields are lying brown aud bare.
The gray barns looking from their hazv hus
Ger the dim waters, widening on the Vnlas
Sent down the air a greeting TO the mills
On the dull thunder Of the alternate fiails.
All sights were mellOwed and all sounds sub
The hills seemed further and the streams
As In a dream the distant woodman hswed
His winter log with many a mafiied blow.
The enbattled forests, erewhile armed with
gold,
Their banners bright with many martial
Now stood. like some sad. beaten host Of old.
Withdrawn afar, In Times remotest blue.
On slumb'rous wings the vulture tried his
flight;
The dove scarce heard his signing mates COM
And ike star so downing in the light
The village church vane seemed TO pale and
faint.
The sentinel cock on the hillside crew
Crew thrice-and all was Stiller than before
silent, till some replying warden blew
=
Where erst the jay, within the eIm's tall crest.
Made gauulous trouble round her unfiedged
young;
And where the oriole hung her swaying nest,
BN every light wind like a cOnser swung.
Where sang the noisy martin Of the caves
Ihe busy swallow circling ever near
Forcbodins, as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and a plenteOuS year.
Where every bird that walked the vernal feast.
shook the sweet slumber from its wings at
To warn the reaper Of the rosy east;
All was now songlesS, empty and fOrlOrn.
Alone, from out the stubble piped the quail.
And croaked the crow through ali the dreary
Alone, the pheasant. drumming i'm the vale.
Made echo In the distance 70 the cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers;
The spiders woNe their thin ,lIrouds night by
The tnisiie-,Iown. the only ghost Of flowers,
sailed slowly by pa--cd nOisclcSs out OF
sight.
Amid all this-In his most dreary air
And where the woOdbine shed upon the porch
Its crimson leaves, as II the year stood there
Firing the floor with its inverted torch;
Amid all this, the center ofthe scene,
The while-haired mstron, with monotonou'
Pied the swim wheel, and, with her joyles,
sat like 2 Fate, and watched the Hyin:
thread.
She had known sorrow. lie had walked with
her,
OF supped and broke with her the ashcn
crust,
And in the dead leaves still she heard the sti
or his black mantle trailing in the dust
While yet her check was bright with summe
bloom,
Her county summoned, and she gave he
all;
And twice War bowed to his sable plume
Re-gave the sword TO It's place upon the wall
Re-gave 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 midst the ranAS Of the invading Zoe.
Long, but not loud, the drOning wheel went OF
Like the low muunur of a hive at noon,
Long, but not loud, the memory Of the gone
Breathed through her lips a sad and tremu
lOus tone.
At last the thread was snapped-her head wa,
bowed
Life dropped the distaf through her handi
serene:
And loving neishbors smoothed her careful
shrOud,
While death and winter closed the autumn
scene.