MATTIE GRIFFITH. In the year 1853, D. Appleton & Co., New York, published a thin volume entitled '•' Poems by Mattie Griffith." Miss Griffith was then a favorite contributor to the Louisville Journal. Slie is a Kentucky poet " to the manor born," her birthplace being Louisville, we believe. She is now residing in Boston, Massachusetts, and is writing poems and tales for The Anti-Slavery Standard, and other New York and Boston journals. CLOSE OF THE YEAR. An hour ago the music of the wood And the low chant of waves came o'er the glade, But now no murmur breaks the solitude. And a stern weight on Nature's pulse seems laid. Yon moon has seen the death of countless years From her blue air-halls in the midnight sky, And lo ! her dim, sad eye looks down through tears Upon the earth to see another die. Silent and beautiful, she sits alone, The priestess of the sky, and in her pale Sweet light a spell of mournful love seems thrown Upon the plain, the forest, and the vale ; It is the Old Year's death-hour, but no sob Comes on the night-air from his dying breast ; Serene and calm and still, without one throb Of agony, he passes to his rest. Yet tears are in our hearts and in our eyes 'Mid the strange stillness of this solemn niijht, While here we sit and muse upon the ties The dying year has severed in his flight; Aye, as his last breath on the air is flung. Our hearts are heavy and our eyes are dim With thinking of the woes that with him sprung To life — alas ! they cannot die with him. Like the cold shadow of a demon's plume, A chilling darkness that will not depart Lies on our thoughts and casts its sullen gloom Around the dearest idols of the heart ; We learn in youth the stern and bitter lore That comes of ruined hopes and dark- ened dreams. And nature has no magic to restore The glory of the spirit's shadowed gleams. Scattered and broken on life's desert wide. The soul's best gems, its brightest treas- ures shine. And memories of joy and love and pride Lie dim upon the bosom's shattered shrine ; We gaze into the future, but a shade Is on its visions, they are not so bless'd And beautiful as those the year has laid Within the heart's deep sepulcher to rest. ( 601 )
