The Valley Virginian. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1865-1895, 1875-10-28
From the st. Louis Globe-D Democrat
FALLEN.

FALLEN.
The iron voice in yonder spire has hushed its hollow
tone,
alone;
The still moon, through the window, sheds its soft
light on the floor,
With melancholy paleness have never seen be-
lore;
And the summer wind comes to me with soft, ao-
liam lay,
AS if burdened with the sorrow of weary, weary
day;
Yet the moonlight cannot soothe me of the sickness
here within,
And the sad wind takes no portion from my bos-
oMs weight of sin.
Yet my heart and all its pulses seem SO quietly at
rest,
That scarcely feel them beating in my arms or in
my breast,
And these rounded limbs are resting now so still
upon the bed
That one would think, to see here, that was
lying dead.
What if 'twere so? What if died-died as I am
lying now,
With something like to.virtues claim upon this
marble brow
What if died tonight? Oh now this heart begins
to beat;
fallen wretch like me to pass from earth sadly
sweet!
and form
To give their fearful strength to some Implying
storm;
AS calm as great Sahara ere the simeon sweeps its
waste
Or the wide saa ere the white waves all its shores
have laced.
STILL sti have tears to shed, these eyelids have
store;
The fountain once within me is a fountain now no
more;
The moon alone weeps for me now, the pale and
thoughtful moon,
She weeps for dying Mary through all the nights
sweet noon.
What if died tonight, within these gilded, wretch
ed walls,
Upon whose crimson drapings no eye of virtue
falls?
What would the soulless inmates do when they had
found me here,
With cheek too white for passions smile too cold
for PASSIONS tear?
Oh! one would come, and from these arms unclasp
the double bands;
Another wrench the Jewels off my fairer, withered
hands;
This splendid robe another form would grace, but
long before
The moonlight came again to sleep upon the quiet
floor.
And when they laid me down in EARTH where pau
per graves are made,
Beneath no bending willow angel-haunted shade,
Who'd come to paint flower Ger poor Mary's
friendess grave,
Or train the tangled wild-grass that no summer
y-ind could wave?
Who'd raise astone to mark from the ruder graves
around,
That passing strangers footsteps might respect the
spot of grounde
No stone would stand above me, no little, waving
tree,
No hand would plant flower Ger fallen wretch,
like me.
What if died tonight, and when tomorrow sun
had crept
They'd come and find me here, but would not weep
to see me dead.
Nor would not bend the knee OF sorrow DER the
pulseless wanton S bed.
There's would come, my motherhood bless the
angel hand
That bore her. ere her daughter fell to yonder quiet
land
Thank God for all the anthems the gladdened angels
sung
young.
And there's another, too, would dome-a upon
whose brow
My shame has brought the winter snow to rest so
heavy now.
Yes he would come, with manhoods tears all burn
ing down his cheek
Had reasons kingdom stronger been where virtue
grew weak.
My sisters and my brothers all, thank God, far
away,
They'll never know how died the one who mingled
in their play;
They'll never know how wretchedlv their darling
sister died,
The who smiled wheneer they smiled, who
cried wheneer they cried
I'm all alone tonight how strange that shonld be
alone;
This splendid chamber seems to want some roses,
wanton tone,
Yon souess mirror, with its smooth and unvarnish-
ed face,
Sees not the ieweled arms tonight in this
chaste embrace.
I have fled the fever OF the heated, crowded hall,
Where might claim the richest and the gayest OF
them all,
Where I could smile upon them with that easy,
wanton grace,
Which subdues the flood OF virtue that would strug
gle in my face.
But hate them ALL scorn them as they scorn me
on the street:
could spurn away the pressure that my lips so Of
ten meet;
could trampe on the lucre that their passion
spares,
than theirs.
thrown away,
little day;
riyen,
Shuts out forever womans heart from all the hopes
OF heaven
What if I died tonight what if I died as am ly-
ing here?
There's many green leaf withers ere the autumn
comes to scar,
There's many dew-drop shaken down ere yet the
sunshine CAME
And many spark hath died before it Weakened into
flame.
What if I died tonight and left these wretched
bonds OF clay
To seek beyond the hollow sphere brighter better
day?
What if my soul passed out and sought that haven
OF the best
Where the wicked cease from troubling and the
weary are at rest?