To an Old Oak

Round thee, alas, no shadows move! From thee no sacred murmurs breathe! Yet within thee, thyself a grove, Once did the eagle scream above, And the wolf howl beneath.

There once the steel-clad knight reclin'd, His sable plumage tempest-toss'd; And, as the death-bell smote the wind, From towers long fled by human kind, His brow the hero cross'd!

Then Culture came, and days serene, And village-sports, and garlands gay. Full many a pathway cross'd the green; And maids and shepherd-youths were seen, To celebrate the May.

Father of many a forest deep, (Whence many a navy thunder-fraught) Erst in their acorn-cells asleep, Soon destin'd o'er the world to sweep, Opening new spheres of thought!

Wont in the night of woods to dwell, The holy druid saw thee rise; And, planting there the guardian-spell, Sung forth, the dreadful pomp to swell Of human sacrifice!

Thy singed top and branches bare Now straggle in the evening sky; And the wan moon wheels round to glare On the long corse that shivers there Of him who came to die!

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