Weekly Chillicothe crisis., 1878-12-26
EpIcEDruM-wM. CULLEN BRYANT


Bayarl Taylors Last Poem.
Say, who shall mourn him nrst,
Who ssiiR IN days for Song 10 evil starred,
Shielding from adverse winds the aame he nursed'-
Our Courtry's earliest Dard7
For all he sang survives
In stream, and tree, ana bird, and mountAinNrcf
And consecration Of upifted lives
To Dutys stern behest;
Til, like an echo falling late and far
As unto Earth the answer from u star,
Along his thoughts no nigh unnoted track
! Our peoples heart o'ertakes
His pure design, and h,aIe him, and awskes
To breathe its music back!
| Approach, Had forms, now itly 10 employ
The grave, sweet stops Of all melolious sound.
Yet undGtoned with joy;
For him ye lose, at last II truly found.
Scarce iarkencd by the shadow OF these hours,
The Maniion Of Flowers,
Crowned with the Paintod-cup that shakes
iis glcam of war-raint on his dusky cheek,
Goes by, but cannot speak;
Yet tear or dow-drop meath his coronal breaks,
And in his dropping hand
| The azure cyelids Of the gcfltian die
That loves the yellow autumn Land;
The wnd-hower, golden-rod
with plOx and orchis, nod;
Aud every blossom fra and shy
| No careless loiterer sees,
But poet, sun aud breeze,
And the bright countenance of our western shy.
They know who loved them; they If all
Forgot to dress his pail
| Or strew his couch of long repose,
Would from the priares and the central SHOWS
The sighing west-wind call,
Their petals, even a. withered tears, to bear,
And, like NiObe Of air,
Upon his seaside grave to let them fall!
Next you, ye many Streams,
Thst make n music through his cold green lana!
Whether ye scour the granite slides
In broken spray-lIght or IN sheeted CLEANS,
Or in dark basins stand,
Your bards fond spirit In your own abides.
Not yours the wall Of woe,
Whose 10y In In your wild aud wantOn how,-
Chill, beRntiful Undincs
That flash white hands behind your thicketfcreens'
And charm the Wildwood and the clOven fumes
To hide you in their glooms!
But he hath kissed YOU and his lips beray
Your coyest secrets; now, no more
Your pickering, winking tides shall stray
Through Augnsts idle day,
Or showered with leaves from brown Novembers
floor,
Untained, and rich In mystery
As ye were wont TO be!
From where the dels Of Greylock feed
Your thn yoOng life to where the sangamon
Breaks with his winding green the Western mead,
Delay to hasten onl
Ask not the clouds and hills
To swell the veins of your obedient rlls,
And brim your banks with turbd overflow
But calmly, soohy go,
Soft as a sigh and lmpid as tear,
so that ye seem to borrow
The voice and the Visage Of sorrow,
For he gave you glory and made you dear!
".
Strong Winds and mighty Mountains, sovereign Sea,
What shall your drges be?
The slow, great billOw, far down the shore,
Boonis In its breaking: "Dare-and despairW
The fetterless winds, az they gather aud roar,
Are eyermore crying: "Where, oh where?"
The mountain submits, with ages hoar,
Say: "Near and austere, but far and fairV'
Shall ye in your sorrow droOp,
Who are strong aud sad, and who cannot stoop7
Two may sing to him where he lies,
But the third IL hidden behind the skies.
Ye cannot take what he stole,
And made his own in his inmOHt soul!
The pulse Of the endless wave
Beauty and breath to his strophes gave;
The Winds with their hands unseen
Held him poised ut a height serene;
And the world that woOed him, he smiled to o'er>
comet;
Whose being the Mountains made 80 strong
Whose forehead arose like sunlighted summit
Over eyes that were fountains Of thought aud
song!