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58

X. SONNET.

[Ill fated oak, dark frowning o'er the plain!]

Ill fated oak, dark frowning o'er the plain!
Amidst thy tresses of luxuriant green,
The wood's wild choristers were whilom seen,
Chaunting their melodies of simple vein:
When vollied thunder tore thy trunk amain,
Fearless, unbending was thy lofty mien;
Majestic ruin! safe from storms I ween
The supple weeds beneath thy wreck remain.
Ruin'd in innocence, like thee I stand;
Youth's wither'd front with dauntless courage rear,
To brave corruption raging o'er the land:
When blasting calumnies my visage sear,
When vice triumphant joins the yelling band;
Like thee, I meet my fate, and feel no fear!