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ON THE FALL OF A MIGHTY OAK.
Written while sitting upon the trunk thereof, Nov. 15, 1837.
Ye sylvan gods and wood-nymphs mourn
The monarch of your shade!
The oldest of your stately oaks
Is low forever laid.
The monarch of your shade!
The oldest of your stately oaks
Is low forever laid.
Ye little songsters of the grove,
Attune a plaintive strain,
For never to his sheltering arms
He'll welcome you again.
Attune a plaintive strain,
For never to his sheltering arms
He'll welcome you again.
Ye little squirrels, blithe and gay,
Forever full of glee,
Forget awhile your carelessness
And mourn your native tree.
Forever full of glee,
Forget awhile your carelessness
And mourn your native tree.
Ye whispering winds that loved to fill
These airy branches high,
Go sadly seek some lonely tree,
And breathe the mournful sigh.
These airy branches high,
Go sadly seek some lonely tree,
And breathe the mournful sigh.
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Mourn, absent Spring, for thy return
Shall mortify thy pride;
Hadst never thou deserted here
This oak would not have died!
Shall mortify thy pride;
Hadst never thou deserted here
This oak would not have died!
Mourn, Summer gone, and when again
Thy steps revisit here,
Let not thy cloud-dim'd eye forget
The tribute of a tear.
Thy steps revisit here,
Let not thy cloud-dim'd eye forget
The tribute of a tear.
Mourn, Autumn, for in these old boughs,
Tho' sere with frost and blast,
Thy foliage would fain remain,
And linger to the last.
Tho' sere with frost and blast,
Thy foliage would fain remain,
And linger to the last.
Howl, Winter! for these hoary limbs,
Some cold and sleety night,
You might have taken pride to deck
With frost-work clear and bright.
Some cold and sleety night,
You might have taken pride to deck
With frost-work clear and bright.
My Muse laments for thee, old oak,
As for an ancient friend;
For o'er my infant head thy arms
Did venerably bend.
As for an ancient friend;
For o'er my infant head thy arms
Did venerably bend.
But ah! how true that solemn thought
That all things here decay!
Not only nature's works shall fail,
But I must pass away.
That all things here decay!
Not only nature's works shall fail,
But I must pass away.
O, man, how vain unthinking thou!
Content to pass along,
Till Death shall beckon thee to come
And join his pallid throng.
Content to pass along,
Till Death shall beckon thee to come
And join his pallid throng.
How often in thy walks abroad
Thou mayest a lesson learn,
With which improved thou 'lt willing go,
Nor wish to make return!
Thou mayest a lesson learn,
With which improved thou 'lt willing go,
Nor wish to make return!
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