 | Poems by John Howard Bryant |  |
75
THE ANCIENT OAK.
'Twas many a year ago,
When life with me was new,
A lordly oak, with spreading arms,
By my mountain-dwelling grew.
When life with me was new,
A lordly oak, with spreading arms,
By my mountain-dwelling grew.
O'er the roof and chimney-top,
Uprose that glorious tree;
No giant of all the forests round
Had mightier boughs than he.
Uprose that glorious tree;
No giant of all the forests round
Had mightier boughs than he.
On the silken turf below
He cast a cool, deep shade,
Where oft, till the summer sun went down
Myself and my sister played.
He cast a cool, deep shade,
Where oft, till the summer sun went down
Myself and my sister played.
We planted the violet there,
And there the pansy leant;
And the columbine, with slender stems,
To the soft June breezes bent.
And there the pansy leant;
And the columbine, with slender stems,
To the soft June breezes bent.
The robin warbled above,
As he builded his house of clay;
And he seemed to sing with a livelier note
At the sight of our mirthful play.
As he builded his house of clay;
And he seemed to sing with a livelier note
At the sight of our mirthful play.
76
And there in the sultry noon,
With brawny limbs and breast,
On the silken turf, in that cool shade,
The reaper came to rest.
With brawny limbs and breast,
On the silken turf, in that cool shade,
The reaper came to rest.
When, through the autumn haze,
The golden sunshine came,
His crimson summit glowed in the light,
Like a spire of ruddy flame.
The golden sunshine came,
His crimson summit glowed in the light,
Like a spire of ruddy flame.
And oft, in the autumn blast,
The acorns, rattling loud,
Were showered on our roof, like the big round hail
That falls from the summer cloud.
The acorns, rattling loud,
Were showered on our roof, like the big round hail
That falls from the summer cloud.
And higher and broader still,
With the rolling years he grew;
And his roots were deeper and firmer set,
The more the rough winds blew.
With the rolling years he grew;
And his roots were deeper and firmer set,
The more the rough winds blew.
At length, in an evil hour,
The axe at its root was laid,
And he fell, with all his boughs, on the spot
He had darkened with his shade.
The axe at its root was laid,
And he fell, with all his boughs, on the spot
He had darkened with his shade.
And into the prostrate boughs
We climbed, my sister and I,
And swung, 'mid the shade of the glossy leaves,
Till the stars came out in the sky.
We climbed, my sister and I,
And swung, 'mid the shade of the glossy leaves,
Till the stars came out in the sky.
77
All day we swung and played,
For the west wind gently blew;
'Twas the day that the post-boy brought the news
Of the battle of Waterloo.
For the west wind gently blew;
'Twas the day that the post-boy brought the news
Of the battle of Waterloo.
But his leaves were withered soon,
And they bore his trunk away,
And the blazing sun shone in, at noon,
On the place of our early play.
And they bore his trunk away,
And the blazing sun shone in, at noon,
On the place of our early play.
And the weary reaper missed
The shade, when he came to rest;
And the robin found no more in spring
The sprays where he built his nest.
The shade, when he came to rest;
And the robin found no more in spring
The sprays where he built his nest.
Now thirty summers are gone,
And thirty winters of snow;
And a stranger I seek the paths and shades
Where I rambled long ago.
And thirty winters of snow;
And a stranger I seek the paths and shades
Where I rambled long ago.
I pause where the glorious oak
His boughs to the blue sky spread,
And I think of the strong and beautiful
Who lie among the dead.
His boughs to the blue sky spread,
And I think of the strong and beautiful
Who lie among the dead.
I think, with a bitter pang,
Of the days in which I played,
Watched by kind eyes that now are closed,
Beneath his ample shade.
Of the days in which I played,
Watched by kind eyes that now are closed,
Beneath his ample shade.
| Poems by John Howard Bryant | |