 | Poems |  |
63
TO AN ELM.
Bravely thy old arms fling
Their countless pennons to the fields of air,
And, like a sylvan king,
Their panoply of green still proudly wear.
Their countless pennons to the fields of air,
And, like a sylvan king,
Their panoply of green still proudly wear.
As some rude tower of old,
Thy massive trunk still rears its rugged form,
With limbs of giant mould,
To battle sternly with the winter's storm.
Thy massive trunk still rears its rugged form,
With limbs of giant mould,
To battle sternly with the winter's storm.
In Nature's mighty fane,
Thou art the noblest arch beneath the sky;
How long the pilgrim train
That with a benison have passed thee by!
Thou art the noblest arch beneath the sky;
How long the pilgrim train
That with a benison have passed thee by!
Lone patriarch of the wood!
Like a true spirit thou dost freely rise,
Of fresh and dauntless mood,
Spreading thy branches to the open skies.
Like a true spirit thou dost freely rise,
Of fresh and dauntless mood,
Spreading thy branches to the open skies.
64
The locust knows thee well,
And when the summer days his notes prolong,
Hid in some leafy cell,
Pours from thy world of green his drowsy song.
And when the summer days his notes prolong,
Hid in some leafy cell,
Pours from thy world of green his drowsy song.
Oft, on a morn in spring,
The yellow-bird will seek thy waving spray,
And there securely swing,
To whet his beak, and pour his blithsome lay.
The yellow-bird will seek thy waving spray,
And there securely swing,
To whet his beak, and pour his blithsome lay.
How bursts thy monarch wail,
When sleeps the pulse of Nature's buoyant life,
And, bared to meet the gale,
Wave thy old branches, eager for the strife!
When sleeps the pulse of Nature's buoyant life,
And, bared to meet the gale,
Wave thy old branches, eager for the strife!
The sunset often weaves
Upon thy crest a wreath of splendor rare,
While the fresh murmuring leaves
Fill with cool sound the evening's sultry air.
Upon thy crest a wreath of splendor rare,
While the fresh murmuring leaves
Fill with cool sound the evening's sultry air.
Sacred thy roof of green
To rustic dance, and childhood's gambols free,
Gay youth and age serene
Turn with familiar gladness unto thee.
To rustic dance, and childhood's gambols free,
Gay youth and age serene
Turn with familiar gladness unto thee.
65
O, hither should we roam,
To hear Truth's herald in the lofty shade;
Beneath thy emerald dome
Might Freedom's champion fitly draw his blade.
To hear Truth's herald in the lofty shade;
Beneath thy emerald dome
Might Freedom's champion fitly draw his blade.
With blessings at thy feet,
Falls the worn peasant to his noontide rest;
Thy verdant, calm retreat
Inspires the sad, and soothes the troubled breast.
Falls the worn peasant to his noontide rest;
Thy verdant, calm retreat
Inspires the sad, and soothes the troubled breast.
When, at the twilight hour,
Plays through thy tressil crown the sun's last gleam,
Under thy ancient bower
The schoolboy comes to sport, the bard to dream.
Plays through thy tressil crown the sun's last gleam,
Under thy ancient bower
The schoolboy comes to sport, the bard to dream.
And when the moonbeams fall
Through thy broad canopy upon the grass,
Making a fairy hall,
As o'er the sward the flitting shadows pass;
Through thy broad canopy upon the grass,
Making a fairy hall,
As o'er the sward the flitting shadows pass;
Then lovers haste to thee,
With hearts that tremble like that shifting light,
To them, O, brave old tree,
Thou art joy's shrine—a temple of delight!
With hearts that tremble like that shifting light,
To them, O, brave old tree,
Thou art joy's shrine—a temple of delight!
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