The Louisiana Democrat. [volume] (Alexandria, La.) 1845-1918, 1883-05-09
THE CLOSING SCENE.
by T, BUCHANAN READ.

w
ably the finest American poem ever
written:
Within this sober realm of leafess trees
The russell year Inhaled 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 ha-
zy hills,
Der the dim waters widening in the
wales,
Sent down the air greeting to the
mills,
On the dull thunder of the alternate
fails:
All sights are mellowed, and all sound
subdued,
The hills seemed further, and the
streams sang low,
As in dream the distant woodman
hewed
His winter log, with many a mufiied
blow.
The embattled forests, erewhile armed
with gold,
Their banners bright with every
APo martial hue,
Now stood like some sad beaten host of
old,
Withdrawn afar in Times remotest
blue;
On slumberous wings the vulture tried
his flight,
The dove scarce heard his singing
mates complaint,
And like star slow drowning in the
light,
The village church vane seemed to
pale and faint;
The sentinel cock upon the hillside
Crew twice, and ali was stiller than
before
Silent, till some replying wanderer
blew
His alien horn. and then was heard
no more.
Where erst the jay, within the elm's
tall crest,
Made garrulous trouble round her
unfedged young;
And where the oriolc hung her swing
ing nest,
By every light wind like censor
swung;
Where sang the noisy masons of the
leaves,
The busy swallows circling ever
near
Foreboding as the rustic mind believes,
An early harvest and a plenteous
year.
Where every bird which charmed the
vernal feast
Shook the sweet slumber from its
wings at morn,
10 warn the reapers of the rosy east;
All now was sOngless, empty and
forlorn.
Alone from out the stubble, piped the
quail,
And croaked the crow through all the
dreary gloom;
Alone two pheasants, drumming in the
vale,
Made echo to the 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 noiseless
out Of sight.
Amid all this, in this most cherries air,
And where the woodbine shed upon
the porch
Its crimson leaves, as if the year stood
Firing the door with his inverted
torch;
Amid all this, the centre of the scene
The White haired matron, with mo-
nOtononS tread,
Piled the swift wheel, and with her Joy
less mien,
Sat like fate, and watched the fly
ing thread.
She had known Sorrow-he had walk
ed with her,
Oft supped, and broke with her tn
ashen crust,
And in the dead leaves still she heart
the stir
Of his black mantle trailing in tn
dust.
While yet her cheek was bright will
summer bloom,
Her country summoned and she CAV
her all;
And twice war bowed to her his sabl
Regave to her the sword to rust upol
her wall;
Regave the sword, but not the han,
that drew
And struck for liberty the dying blow
Nor him who, to his sire and countr.
true,
Fell mid the ranks of the invadin.
foe.
Long, but not loud, the droning whee
went on,
Like the low murmur of q hive at noon
Long, but not loud, the memory of th,
gone
Breathed through her lips sad ant
tremulOus tone.
At last the thread was snapped-her heat
was bowed!
Life dropped the distaff through hel
hands serene;
And loving neighbors smoothed her care
full shrOud,
While death and winter closed the all
tumn scene.
THE Government has just printed
the official record of the Guiteau trial
1t makes three large volumes. TIL
work is gotten cot in the best style o
the Government Printing Office. TIL
volumes are handsomely bound in cal
and boards, and are printed on an ex
cellent quality of paper. The thre
volumes make 1851 pages in all. But
linite1 nunhar of non;ae oSo ,,ov