THE OLD TREE.
Old tree! while thy leaves in the summer-winds play,
O! let thy wild spirit give answer to-day!
By the red lightning's flash I have gazed on thy form,
I have questioned thee oft, 'mid the rage of the storm.
O! let thy wild spirit give answer to-day!
By the red lightning's flash I have gazed on thy form,
I have questioned thee oft, 'mid the rage of the storm.
I have heard the strong whirlwind roar hoarse thro' thy leaves,
Like a demon of ill, when the winter wind grieves;
Thou hast heaved like a billow preparing a grave
For the vessel careering before the wild wave.
Like a demon of ill, when the winter wind grieves;
Thou hast heaved like a billow preparing a grave
For the vessel careering before the wild wave.
O! bravely, old tree! has thy spirit withstood
The shock of the thunder, the rush of the flood;
Thou hast stood like a rock in the strong tempest's path,
Thou hast laughed unto scorn the fierce voice of his wrath.
The shock of the thunder, the rush of the flood;
Thou hast stood like a rock in the strong tempest's path,
Thou hast laughed unto scorn the fierce voice of his wrath.
Alone, O! alone, in thy strength and thy glory
Old tree of the forest! say, what is thy story?
Alone like a king, stern in pride, lion-hearted,
When his foes are all gone, and his people departed.
Old tree of the forest! say, what is thy story?
Alone like a king, stern in pride, lion-hearted,
When his foes are all gone, and his people departed.
I have questioned thee oft, when the summer was warm,
I Have questioned thee oft, midst the rage of the storm,
And a voice comes to me, like a voice from the wave,
"No secrets have I, which thy spirit should crave."
I Have questioned thee oft, midst the rage of the storm,
And a voice comes to me, like a voice from the wave,
"No secrets have I, which thy spirit should crave."
Methinks that a voice might be heard from each bough;
Old tree of the forest! give tongue to them now!
Of the years thou hast numbered—could I but once climb,
Many things I could tell, that had pass'd in my time!
Old tree of the forest! give tongue to them now!
Of the years thou hast numbered—could I but once climb,
Many things I could tell, that had pass'd in my time!
Perchance, 'neath thy cover, the red Indian sprung,
Perchance, thro' thy branches, the war-shout has rung!
Here the fire of their council perchance was last made,
And they sleep here the last sleep of death in thy shade!
Perchance, thro' thy branches, the war-shout has rung!
Here the fire of their council perchance was last made,
And they sleep here the last sleep of death in thy shade!
Ah! who may give answer! not thou- of the wood,
For thy spirit is fitful, and dark is thy mood;
And thy voice comes to me like a voice from the blast,
"The tales of the past I have given to the past."
For thy spirit is fitful, and dark is thy mood;
And thy voice comes to me like a voice from the blast,
"The tales of the past I have given to the past."
Stern tree of the old oaken forest! thy tone
Is full of the knowledge of years that have flown;
Yet thy secrets we read in the wave of each bough,
As the light and the shade which pass over them now.
Is full of the knowledge of years that have flown;
Yet thy secrets we read in the wave of each bough,
As the light and the shade which pass over them now.
They are dark with the horror of years that are fled,
And bright with the sunbeams around them bespread,
Now, sad as the heart, when the winter-wind grieves,
Then glad as the zephyrs that play midst thy leaves.
And bright with the sunbeams around them bespread,
Now, sad as the heart, when the winter-wind grieves,
Then glad as the zephyrs that play midst thy leaves.
Old tree! I have fancied a voice from each leaf,
Like a whisper of gladness, a murmur of grief;
And they come to my heart like a voice from the dead,
Though "the tales of the past with the past all have fled."
Like a whisper of gladness, a murmur of grief;
And they come to my heart like a voice from the dead,
Though "the tales of the past with the past all have fled."