The passing of the storm, and other poems . e setting sun; 50 The Passing of the Storm His face a blending of the calm and sad,Paternal-looking, so they called him Dad. This man, so near his journeys close. With great deliberation rose, Coughed once or twice and scratched his nose; Then, as became a veteran. Surveyed his hearers and began; Since Uncle Jim and Russian Pete Declared the reasons why their feet This rugged wilderness have trod. And left for aye their native sod, I, too, will recapitulate That chapter, from my book of fate. Where Rappahannocks silver stream Reflects the moons respl
The passing of the storm, and other poems . e setting sun; 50 The Passing of the Storm His face a blending of the calm and sad,Paternal-looking, so they called him Dad. This man, so near his journeys close. With great deliberation rose, Coughed once or twice and scratched his nose; Then, as became a veteran. Surveyed his hearers and began; Since Uncle Jim and Russian Pete Declared the reasons why their feet This rugged wilderness have trod. And left for aye their native sod, I, too, will recapitulate That chapter, from my book of fate. Where Rappahannocks silver stream Reflects the moons resplendent beam, And sheds a mellow lustre oer The trees and shrubs that fringe the shore; Where Natures lavish hand bestows The crystal dews and generous showers; Where lily, hollyhock and rose. And many-tinted herbs and flowers Combining, form a floral scene On background of eternal green; Where through the solemn night is heard The warbling plaint of feathered throats, As whippoorwill and mockingbird Pour forth their wealth of liquid notes,. With swift and spoliating flow,Uprooting many a noble tree, To strew the deserts waste below, AVith scattered drift-wood and debris. See page 22. A Sequel of the Lost Cause 51 While the accompanying breeze Sighs through the underbrush and trees, And rippling waters blend their tune, In salutation to the moon; Where singing insects, bugs and bees Mingle their droning harmonies. With croakings of loquacious frogs In the adjacent swamps and bogs; Where from the water, air and ground, Rises a symphony of sound; Mid natures fond environment. My boyhoods happy hours were spent. But now, my narrative begins: I had a brother, we were twins, Sunburnt and freckled, light of heart, Resembling each other so That few could tell the two apart. We grew, as two twin pines might grow, Upon the isolated edge Of some lone precipice or ledge. That overlooks the vale below; Remote from every wooded strip. With but each others fellowship. In solitary station plac
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