Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/76

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Patriarch of the West! Often have mine ears been blest With some tale from traveller wight, Of thy majesty and might, Rearing high, on column proud, Massy verdure toward the cloud, While thy giant branches throw Coolness o'er the vales below. Humbler rank, indeed, is mine, Yet I boast a kindred line, And though Nature spared to set On my head thy coronet, Still, from history's scroll I claim Somewhat of an honored name; So, I venture, kingly tree, Thus to bow myself to thee. Once there came, in days of yore, A minion from the mother shore,