Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/298

258 6.

Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds,

That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay,

For still in thy bosom are Life's early seeds,

And still may thy branches their beauty display.

7.

Oh! yet, if Maturity's years may be thine,

Though I shall lie low in the cavern of Death,

On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine,

Uninjured by Time, or the rude Winter's breath.

8.

For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave

O'er the corse of thy Lord in thy canopy laid;

While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave,

The Chief who survives may recline in thy shade.

9.

And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot,

He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread.

Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot;

Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead.

10.

And here, will they say, when in Life's glowing prime,

Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay,

And here must he sleep, till the moments of Time

Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day. 1807. [First published 1832.] ["Copied for Mr. Moore, Jan. 24, 1828."—Note by Miss Pigot.]