The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay | ||
238
THE WOODMAN.
I
Five hundred years the royal treeHas waved in the woods his branches free;
But king no longer shall he stand,
To cast his shadow o'er the land;
The hour has come when he must die:—
Down upon the green earth let him lie!
II
No more beneath his spreading boughsShall lovers breathe their tender vows;
No more with early fondness mark
Their names upon his crinkled bark,
Or idly dream and softly sigh:—
Down upon the green earth let him lie!
III
The lightning stroke has o'er him pass'd,And never harm'd him, first or last;
But mine are strokes more sure, I trust,
To lay his forehead in the dust;
My hatchet falls,—the splinters fly:—
Down upon the green earth let him lie!
IV
But yet, although I smite him down,And cast to earth his forest crown,
239
To plough deep furrows o'er the main,
And flaunt his pennant to the sky:—
Down upon the green earth let him lie!
V
Full-breasted to the favouring breeze,He shall be monarch of the seas,
And bear our Britain's triumphs far,
In calm or tempest, peace or war;
'Tis but to live that he must die:—
Down upon the green earth let him lie!
The Collected Songs of Charles Mackay | ||