 | Under Green Leaves |  |
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THE TREES.
I
If you could dance when Orpheus piped,Ye oaks, and elms, and beeches,
Try, when a man of modern time
Your courtesy beseeches.
'Twas but his fancy! Well, 'tis mine,—
So do your best endeavour:
The facts of History pass away,
The thoughts may live for ever.
II
My friend the merchant of Cornhill,Awake to nought but scheming,
And he who plods in Fig-tree Court,
Will call this idle dreaming.
151
Though they may scoff or pity;
And measure, in their self-conceit,
Arcadia by the City.
III
Come, Father Oak, so old and staid,But vigorous and hearty,
Shake off the soberness of years,
And join the merry party.
'Tis not becoming? Harmless mirth
Takes no account of ages,—
So, Monarch of the Woods, unbend,
And frolic with your pages!
IV
And thou, superbest matron Beech,In all thy bloom of beauty,
Relax; and learn that, now and then,
Enjoyment is a duty.
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With music in thy tresses,
Step out,—the wild winds pipe the tune,
And every moment presses.
V
Ye damsel Birches, slim and fair,And capersome as misses
Who've just come home from boarding-school,
And dream of love and kisses,
I know you're ready: come away,
With silver-braided kyrtles,
And taper limbs, and flowing hair,
And breath as sweet as myrtles.
VI
Ye Firs and Larches, rough as ladsLet loose from School or College;
Ye Poplars, stiff as men on 'Change,
Forget your cram of knowledge.
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But every tree an aid is,—
And you'll improve in elegance,
By contact with the ladies.
VII
Ye steadfast Elms, our English trees,The charm of rural alleys,
The grace of parks and village-greens,
And darlings of our valleys:
Come forth, with robes of flowing green,
The ivy for your flounces,—
The dance will languish in the dale,
If one of you renounces.
VIII
And you, like melancholy maidsWho sigh on lonely pillows,
Or widows, ere they've cast their weeds,—
Ye fond, romantic Willows,
154
And cease to play at Sorrow,
And taste a little Joy to-day,
To think about to-morrow.
IX
And thou, dear Hawthorn,—sweetest sweet,The beautiful, the tender,
Bright with the fondling of the sun,
And prankt in bridal splendour,—
Come with thy sisters, full of bloom,
And all thy bridemaids merry,—
Acacia, Chestnut, Lilac fair,
The Apple, and the Cherry.
X
Strike up the music! Lo! it sounds!The expectant woodlands listen;
They wave their branches to the sky,
And all their dew-drops glisten.
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A buzzing from the hollow,
They move, the ancient Oaks and Elms,
And all the juniors follow.
XI
They move, they start, they thrill, they dance,They shake their boughs with pleasure,
And flutter all their gay green leaves,
Obedient to the measure.
They choose their partners: Oak and Beech
Pair off, a stately couple;
And Larch to Willow makes his bow,
Th' unbending to the supple.
XII
The Hawthorn, charm of every eye,In Beauty's ranks a leader,
Has choice of many for her hand,
But gives it to the Cedar.
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And name renown'd in story;
And he, th' effulgence of her eyes,
And fragrance of her glory.
XIII
The Poplar, very gaunt and tall,Says to the Ash: “May I press
Thy fairy figure in the waltz?
If not, I'll ask the Cypress.”
And Ash consents,—but thinks her beau
Has nothing that entices;
He looks so like a serving-man,
To hand about the ices.
XIV
The Elms and Lindens choose their mates,And e'en the sturdy Holly;
And all the Brambles and the Ferns
Think standing still is folly,
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As wild as lads and lasses,—
But make sad havoc, as they twirl,
With all the flowers and grasses.
XV
Come here, thou man of Lloyd's and 'Change,Come here, thou grave decider,
Who splittest straws in Fig-tree Court,—
Come here, thou money'd spider,
Who lendest cash at cent. per cent.,
And see our woodland pastime!—
If once you see it, I'll be sworn
It will not be the last time.
XVI
You cannot see it? Never will,'Twas waste of breath to ask you:
To look an inch before your nose,
Would sorely be to task you.
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My other self, and dearest:
If there be music in the woods,
Come, tell me if thou hearest.
XVII
If there be spirits in the trees,Thine eyes, with inward lustre
Caught from the fountains of thy soul,
Will see them as they cluster.
Thou hearest—seest! Oh! my love,
Thy sympathy enhances
All joys I feel, and turns to truths
My shadows of romances.
XVIII
Take root again, ye docile Trees,No longer leap and jostle;
There's other music in the boughs,—
The Cuckoo and the Throstle.
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The long grass sleeps in quiet;
And dancing, in an hour so calm,
Seems weariness and riot.
XIX
Besides, the fitful mood has changed,Gone back to times Elysian,
When those who sat beneath the trees
Could see a brighter vision.
We'll see it too. Come, potent witch,
And do as thou art bidden!
Come, Fancy! touch those wrinkled barks,
And show what they have hidden!
XX
The west wind roaming through the woods,With briery odours laden,
Breathes gently, as from every tree
Out steps a spirit maiden,—
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But youthful as this minute,
And lovely as the loveliest thing
That moves and sparkles in it!
XXI
Barefooted, in their robes of green,Blue-eyed, with tresses golden,
By none but those whom Fancy loves,
In all their pomp beholden;
We see them on the sunny slope,
And, credulous as childhood,
Love, for their sakes, each teeming tree
That blossoms in the wild wood.
XXII
Oh! richer far, than he who ownsThis forest, root and branches,
And calculates how much 'twill yield
For houses and ship-launches,—
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We own, if we enjoy it;
And this great property of ours,
We dare him to destroy it.
XXIII
Ours is the forest—ours the land—And ours the great sky-ocean,
Through which their ships can never sail,
Whose pelf is their devotion.
Leave us our dreams, ye men of facts,
Who shake your heads profoundly,
And tell us if ye're half as glad,
Or if ye sleep as soundly!
| Under Green Leaves | |