 | Hagar |  |
THE PLANTING OF THE TREES.
'Twas late last summer, when a whirl-wind came,And laid “our Willow” prostrate in the dust.
This spring, when first the willow buds had burst;
And over all the land, the Maples were a-flame,
Two stripling Maples from the woods were brought,
Slender and tall, few buds on them were seen,
Such trees were meet for “Jack's” most famous bean,
For scarce were limbs where one might hang a thought.
Upon the ragged sward the church beside;
Two shallow holes the workmen duly made,
And closely packed within the roots were laid,
The sods placed on, and all seemed satisfied.
Not all, last night soft fell the April rain,
The Gothic windows of the church looked out,
Thro' streaming tears, and clouds of hopeless doubt;
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“Are these the trees,” it said, “such poles as these?
To stand where stood so long, my loved, lost tree?
How gracefully it waved, and sang to me,
When howled rude winds, or sighed the summer breeze.”
A little singing bird all cold and wet,
Sat perched upon the limb of one poor tree,
And lifting up its wings sang joyfully;
“Now spring has come, the winter we'll forget.
Wait thou, Oh, moaning pane! let summer's sun
Shine thrice upon these trees, so leafless now;
We'll come and build our nest within the bough,
And sing our sweetest song when all is done.”
The bird was still, and hushed the moaning pane,
The struggling grass sprang up, and thought of spring;
The bird went on his way with lighter wing,
The trees looked up, and blessed the April rain.
| Hagar | |