 | Verses of a life time |  |
157
WASHINGTON'S ELM AT CAMBRIDGE.
Much hast thou seen, brave tree,
Since thy young holiday of early leaf,
When thy slight branches struggled to be free,
And thy pale root was brief!
Since thy young holiday of early leaf,
When thy slight branches struggled to be free,
And thy pale root was brief!
More than the common share
Has fallen to thy wondrous lot, I guess,
Great antiquarian of an age most rare,
Of trial, hope, success!
Has fallen to thy wondrous lot, I guess,
Great antiquarian of an age most rare,
Of trial, hope, success!
Take me among thy boughs,
Good tree; I to thy vast experience soar!
More than book knowledge can thy whisperings rouse,
A sterner, richer lore!
Good tree; I to thy vast experience soar!
More than book knowledge can thy whisperings rouse,
A sterner, richer lore!
I hear an answering tone
In the long waving of thine aged limbs,
And the wind's low and softly uttered moan,
Like spirits' midnight hymns.
In the long waving of thine aged limbs,
And the wind's low and softly uttered moan,
Like spirits' midnight hymns.
158
Did not the Indian's dart,
When roving wild, make thy young trunk its aim?
And some brown girl, beneath thy branches, start
The fire-fly flame?
When roving wild, make thy young trunk its aim?
And some brown girl, beneath thy branches, start
The fire-fly flame?
Dost thou remember, tree,
Harvard's first sons? Came they beneath thy boughs
With study pale—or wandering carelessly
Dream of fair maiden's vows?
Harvard's first sons? Came they beneath thy boughs
With study pale—or wandering carelessly
Dream of fair maiden's vows?
And does not every leaf
Stir with the strong remembrances of one,
The immortal—the unconquerable chief—
Thine own—thy Washington?
Stir with the strong remembrances of one,
The immortal—the unconquerable chief—
Thine own—thy Washington?
To think that he did lay
His weary limbs beneath thy very shade,—
That here he mused, and planned, and thought by day;
That here he nightly prayed!
His weary limbs beneath thy very shade,—
That here he mused, and planned, and thought by day;
That here he nightly prayed!
To think that here his soul
Writhed in some stirring of war's agony—
Or with a strong, prophetic, deep control
Looked through to victory!
Writhed in some stirring of war's agony—
Or with a strong, prophetic, deep control
Looked through to victory!
159
Why, 't is a hallowed spot!
Here for my country a new pulse beats high,
And woman's feeble nature all forgot,
Here too even I could die.
Here for my country a new pulse beats high,
And woman's feeble nature all forgot,
Here too even I could die.
Cambridge, Mass. 1836.
| Verses of a life time | |