Poetry: Afternoon In February

The dav js ending, The night is descending ; The marsh is frozen, Theriverdead. Throi-gh clouda likenshes, The red sim flashes On village windowa Thai glimmcred red. The snow rccommenccs ; The buried fences Mark no longer Tlie road o'er the plain : "While through the nieadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly possca Á funeral train. The bell a pealinj;, And evcry feeling Wtihin me repponds To the dismal knell ! Shadowg are trailing - My heart s bewaüiiig And toiling witbin Like a funeral bell. The following a ihe concluding verso of n )oem by John Quincy Adama, publiehcd in the LiDorty Bell : nd say not thou, " My country right or wrong," Nor shed thy blood for an unhaliowed cause, 'hy life and nll thou hast. to her belong, And .'ree submission to her righteouslaws. ut justice bolds no balnncc lor the atrong ; Her sword to snnction wrong she nevcr draws. :, then, thy Country tramples on the right, Furl up her baniiers, and nvert the sight.