Page:Felicia Hemans in the New Monthly Magazine Volume 11 1824.pdf/3



I have seen the ancient Oak On the dark still water cast, And it was not fell'd by the woodman's stroke Or the rush of the sweeping blast; For the axe might never touch that tree, And the air was still as a summer-sea.

I saw it fall, as falls a chief By an arrow in the fight, And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf, At the crashing of its might! And the startled deer to their coverts drew, And the spray of the lake, like a fountain's, flew!

'Tis fall'n! but think thou not I weep For the forest's pride o'erthrown; An old man's tears lie far too deep To be pour'd for this alone! But by that sign too well I know That a youthful head must soon be low!

A youthful head, with its shining hair, And its quick bright-flashing eye— Well may I weep! for the boy is fair, Too fair a thing to die! But on his brow the mark is set— Oh! could my life redeem him yet!

He bounded by me as I gazed Alone on the fatal sign, And it seem'd like sunshine when he raised His joyous glance to mine! With a stag's fleet step he bounded by, So full of life!—but he must die!

He must, he must! in that deep dell, By that dark water's side, 'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell, But an heir of his fathers died! And he—there's laughter in his eye, Joy in his voice—yet he must die!