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POEMS.
THE YOUTH AND THE WITHERED TREE.
There stood a youth by a withered tree,
And he looked on its branches old;
And he thought his heart could never be
So cheerless and so cold
As that withered tree.
And he looked on its branches old;
And he thought his heart could never be
So cheerless and so cold
As that withered tree.
So the young reason, so they say;
Their feelings cannot pass away:
It was not strange
That he should think the open brow,
And the heart that beat so warmly now,
Could never change.
Their feelings cannot pass away:
It was not strange
That he should think the open brow,
And the heart that beat so warmly now,
Could never change.
Years, stirring years, pass'd o'er his form—
Sometimes of dark'ning clouds and storm,
Sometimes of joy;
But his heart had hardened in that space,
And none in the haughty man could trace
The gentle boy.
Sometimes of dark'ning clouds and storm,
Sometimes of joy;
But his heart had hardened in that space,
And none in the haughty man could trace
The gentle boy.
He had won himself a lofty name,
And the garland of a warrior's fame
Was on his brow;
And the garland of a warrior's fame
Was on his brow;
