Omaha daily bee., 1883-12-01
The Closing Sccne.

1.-THE following poem is pronounced by thu
Westminster Review to be uuquestionabl
the finest American poem ever wtisten.l
Within the sober realms Of leaAess trees,
The russet year inh Aled 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 hay hills
Ger the dun waters widening in the wales
Sent down the air n greeting tO the mills,
On the dull thunder OF ale ,rnate a ais.
Ali sights were mellowed and all sounds sub
dued,
The hill 5 seemed farther and the stream'
sang low,
As in q Dire nm the distant woodman hewed
His winter log with many a mutHed blow,
The ombattled forests, erewhile armed with
gold,
The banners bright with every martial hue,
Nov 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Withdrawn afar in times remOtest blue.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
complaint;
Aud, like a stAr slow drowning In the light,
The village church vane seemed ~ pie ana
faint.
The sentinel cock upon tho hillside crew
OItN uIl -tHAi 81 VeN uhAs' s'sH Wv
Silent, till som repl, ing wsrder blew
His alien horn, and then was heard nc
moro.
Whore erst the jay within tho elm's tall crest,
Made gsrrulous trouble around her un
6sdsed young:
And where the uriuie hung her swayiny nek,
BY every light wind like y oenser swung;
Where sang the noisy martins OF tho caves,
The busy swallows oircling ever near.
Foreboding, ~ the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest ami u plenteous year.
Where every bird that walked the vcrnal
feast
Shook the sweet slunber from its wings =,
morn;
TO warn the reaper of tho rosy east:
All now was ~suulo,s. empty and ~fvrlorn.
Alone. from out the stubble, piped tho qu all,
And croaked the crow through all the
dresry gloom;
Alone, ths pie isant drumming In tbs vale,
Made eChp IN tho distant cottage loom.
There was no bud, no bloom upon the bowers;
The spiders wove their thin shrouds night
by night,
The thistle down, the only ghost of flowers.
Sailed slowly by passed noiseles'ly out of
Amid all this in the most dreary air,
And where the woodbine she'd upon tho
porch
It's crimson leaves, as IL the year stood there,
Firing the floor with its inverted torch.
Amid all this-the center of the scene,
The white.haired matron with monotonous
tread,
Piled tho swift wheel, aud with her ~ioyless
mein
Sat like q fate and watched the flying
thread.
She had known sorrow-he had walked with
her,
Oft supped, and broke with her tho ashen
crust,
And in the dead leaves still she heard tho stir
Of his thick mantle trailiuv in the dust.
While yet her cheek was bright with summer
bloom,
Her c,unrry summoned and she gave her
all,
And twice war bowed to her his sable plume
Re-gave the sword to rust upon the wall.
Re gave the sword, but not the hand that
And struck for liberty the dying blow:
Nor him VII ~ hi- sire aud country true,
Fell mid the ranks Of tho invading foe.
Long, but not loud, the dropping wheel went
On,
Like the low murmur of a hive ut noon;
Long hut not loud. the memory of n gone
Breathes through her lips a sad and tremu.
lous tune.
AT last the thread was snapped--hcr head
was bowed.
Life dropped the distatf through her hands
serene,
And loving %neighbors smoothed her careful
shroud,
While death and winter closed the autumn
scene. II. Buchanan Reid.