Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1885-02-01

Ibea 4 reached 81 * f;3kk ead
snosc : t~hrettoilon j66 o. 6AcisAt taef
isous It's high perch % lb3 fnunine mltt
sweeping Is inlo an everlasting tempefakce
tesi,ai. then il swooped down with me sssep
o. 4 hawk. came asoeud aud caught NE
behind the knees dropped me on the lsor
with 4 thump that made me heartsick Tor q
uesk. and IA shat huniiliating position the
men found me. l was sitting on the Sail
Ny eneny was st my feet. but | sSs not
vaiR-glorions in my ti1mPh. And when
grandfather said severely. THAT boy has
been a. the cider" l sighed in bitterness Of
spirit because | knew better than he did,
how ~euergeiieallY / had heen Att
And the day never came when l could
use . Hsil. Before the dawn OF that tn
nmph. the threshing machine began 70
hreak the legs Of men with its far reaching
,umbling rod, and the fail Went oat Of bust
ness
"In she crib the iabe Is sleepltg
And th- sunshine. from The door,
All the afternoon Is creeping
Slowly round upon the n0og:
And the shadows SOO0 VIII d1rkcn.
And thedaylight soon must pale,
When her heart no more shall heaTHea
To The tnamping Of the nail.
To the bouncing Of the Hall
Her fond heart no more shall hearkeR
10 the football oil the fail"
Heighhol You konW, when looked out
Of The window today / was Just thinking
what busting, busy, noisy days fhey use to
be on the farm when the threshers came,
and | wasn't going to talk about anything
else. But the loneliness that sleeps IN the
old mill in these winter days, the cooling OF
the doves up in the loft, the still, white hills.
crowded the noisy days ont OF my heart
Alvey down below the foaming waters break
over the ice-crested dam, and the white
wreathing spray drifts away from their muir
murous song in the cold December air.
The music dreams into the echoes OF voice
soft and low as the soRg of q water nymph
on many-fountained Ida. The scattered
flakes are falling on the ice bound creek,
and the cedars SWAY patiently and the leaf
less oaks SILVER with q sense OF WINTER but
in the nonotonous song OF the falling wa
ter there is a dream Of anemones in the ra-
venes and the blue yiolets on the hill sides.
In the drifting spray and the ieathery wa
tiers. l see the beauty that is born OF q muir
mur;ng sound; child wondering browns eyes,
with the starlight in their glances; o vision,
beautiful broSed, fair rs the morning, dim
pied Ike the eddies in the race, pure as the
b~lossoming lilies that rock m the ripples In
the summer days; the daughter OF a queen,
With the blossom Of childhood on her lips;
wearing a crown of pain that made her
more than royal; patient trusting, hopeful
as the silent cedars bending under the bur
den of the cruel winter-only last Christ
mas time she walked with you and me
about the old mill on the laughing creek,
and talked with US about the olden summer
days. And now the white lids have closed
over the brown eyes, the tired little hands
are clasped in dreamless sleep above the
pulseless heart, tie snowy mantle OF the
silent hills is ike the drapery we wrapped
about her when she fell asleep, and all the
laughter has died out of the dimpled creek
and the hurrying race, the falling watery
sob, sob, sob all day in echo to the mourn
ing.doves, the distant fails boom out like
mufled drums or minute guns, the sad, white
bills are voidless, the cedars bend their
crested heads so mournfully, and all the mill
is lonely, dark and cold. because no more 1t
hears The voice of Natalie.