On The Fall Of An Ancient Oak Tree[197]

While onward moves each circling year Thy mandates, Nature, all obey, As with this moving, changeful sphere The seasons change and never stay; Old Oak, I to your place return, Where late you stood, and viewing mourn,

For the great loss my heart sustained When you declined, long will I sigh, That hour when you no more remained To cheer the summer, passing by; No longer blessed my eager view, But like some dying friend withdrew.

Though frequent, by that nipping frost, The blast which cold November sends, I saw your leafy honours lost; Hope, for such losses, made amends: The spring again beheld them grow, And we were pleased, and so was you.

Since I your fatal fall survive, Remembrance long shall hold you dear, And bid some young successor live; By sad Amyntor planted here; Its buds to swell, its leaves to spread, And shade the place when he is dead.

A prince among your towering race, What more your vanished form endears Is that your presence in this place Had been at least one hundred years; And men that long in dust have laid, When boys, beneath your shadow played.

You had your time to feel the sun, To wanton in his cheering ray;-- That time is past, your race is run, And we have nothing more to say, Than, may your oaken spirit go Among Elysian oaks below.

From the edition of 1809.