 | English melodies |  |
166
THE OLD TREE.
Thou hast many friends, old Tree,
Friends that oft with garlands wreathe thee,
Many that come miles to see,
And take their simple meal beneath thee:
I am old—but none to me
Come with friends, when I am dreary;—
They prefer the old gray tree
To the old man, worn and weary!
Friends that oft with garlands wreathe thee,
Many that come miles to see,
And take their simple meal beneath thee:
I am old—but none to me
Come with friends, when I am dreary;—
They prefer the old gray tree
To the old man, worn and weary!
Age in thee is deem'd a grace,
Songs in praise of thee are endless;
Woe, that in the human race
Age should be unlov'd and friendless.
Smiles are things of other days—
Things that shun the lonely-hearted:
Friends—alas! in vain I gaze—
All that lov'd me have departed.
Songs in praise of thee are endless;
Woe, that in the human race
Age should be unlov'd and friendless.
Smiles are things of other days—
Things that shun the lonely-hearted:
Friends—alas! in vain I gaze—
All that lov'd me have departed.
| English melodies | |