The record-union., 1895-08-17


punctures. To some riders they
come with fatal frequency; others
seem to escape them almost altogether. a
rider Of some years. experience never
knew what Is was to have punctured
tire until the other day, when the mishap
befell her no less than eight times.
For the RECORD-UNIoN.l
TWILIGHT AND THE DEAD.
The long bright day is past and gone,
The evening twilight now has come,
And settled over land and sea,
And broods in yonder cypress tree.
How fast the cleaning turns to gloom,
And wraps aoout each grave ana tomb
a silence deeper than the sea,
a quiet filled with ecstacy.
l hear about no human voice
To break the spell OF holy calm;
No terror midst these tombs | find;
The dead can never do US harm.
l fancy can plainly see
Those fieshess bones there laid to rest;
l see the hollow sightess eye
And stif hands folded on their breasts.
Alone they lay through long dark nights,
The owl their sentinel to be;
The cricket. chirping IN The grass,
Sends out a tender melody.
Is this, 0 Lord, the very end
OF all am billion all desire?
These hearts now crumbling to decay
Were once atlame with worldly fire.
Far out at sea the breakers roar
They thunder DER their many caver,
Where resting FAR below their brine
Are many old and namelass graves.
And not like these at rest on shore
Their dirge by loving voices sung;
No tender prayers for them were read,
No gilded censer o er them swung.
Into the boiling surge they sank,
The voice they heard was the bIttern's cry,
Or perhaps the SIRENS treacherous song,
Or the roar OF the waves as they thundered
by.
And when naked bloated corpse
Perchance is cast upon the sand,
Whose soul was freed far out at sea.
Whose body comes back to the land,
There with the rest we lay him down;
"UnknoWn' we mark the grave above;
He may have been some mothers pride,
He may have been some maiden's love.
And there he lies to sleep in peace
The long dark nights and summer days:
No earthly sound his rest will break;
He'll hear no more the sObbing waves.
o, what is there beyond these graves
Have these here found a reason plain,
Which proves that it is grand to die?
In days gone by they may have built
Grand, glorious castles in the air.
They saw IN mind their hearts desire,
And heaven, perhaps, was pictured there.
They trusted well to Providence
And judged each act of hers as kind;
And met reveTses in their lives
with renewed nope and tranquil mind.
They closed their eyes. as life rushed by,
And thus allayed the present pain;
On Death dark tide they cast their bark
With hopes that they should meet again.
To seek the land their fathers found
They died rejoicing at their fame;
" it'll not one back ward ANXIOUS look
They scorned, like heroes, TO complain.
I'll grieve not for their lonely lot,
But rather envy them their boon;
No cold deceit or altered looks
Or love forgot can reach the tomb.
So why weep for the silent dead?
Their tolls are past, their sorrows DER;
And those they loved their steps shall tread,
When Death shall JOIN to part no more.
And even when that hand removed
These heroes to the silent tomb,
The soothing presence OF their love
Made bright the horror of the gloom.
o sad Experience, fatal Power
That casts its shadows DER our sky;
To pass the threshold of your bower
u is needy that we all should die.
They why should flow the useless tear?
BY nature grand this boon is given
The cares OF life 10 SOOthe away,
And draw our faint hearts on to heaven.
Then rest. you lone, forgotten dead,
NO banners you need q er your streaming;
The owl will snriek dreary dirge,
And set the other wild birds screaming.
Well miss you, though, at break of day,
Or when the dewy night is falling;
But though the blasts of war should sound
You would not heed their mighty calling.
Naught rivals you in solitude:
The daybreak brings you no tomorrow;
Instead, ii sends that peaceful sleep,
Where ne'er enters strife nor sorrow
On yonder lone, neglected grave,
From out the earth young vine shoots;
1t may have been his flVorite flower
And to his heart may cling the roots.
On life'S dark road, alone, he walked,
Till cold Death checked his souls faint
Breathing;
Then to the world he turned with sad Sigh,
And to its thankleSS heart his tears be
queathlng.
If Fortunes Smile had DER him but once
shone;
Perhaps, forgotten there he would not lie;
And then, maybe, the hand that took his life
Would be held out to others struggling by
He lived and died a coward, some may say;
He shank from life and feared dark destiny
But who knows of the tortures that he bore
Before he closed his eyes and cleased to be
The chilly winds moan sadly DER these graves
And like a SeereSS i the twilight hour
II tells us that all things must fade away,
And life is but a tender, fragile flower.
Lou l.. DRINKALL.
The Poet Laureate In Boston.
The most of the prose which Dr.
Holmes wrote at this period of his life
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