THE FALLEN OAK, A VISION.

Beneath the shadow of an ancient oak,

Dreaming I lay, far‘ mid a solemn wood,

When a noise like thunder stirr'd the solitude,

And from that trance I suddenly awoke!

A noble tree came crashing to the ground,

Through the dark forest opening out a glade;

While all its hundred branches stretching round,

Crush'd the tall hazles in its ample shade.

Methought, the vanquish'd monarch as he died

Utter'd a groan: while loud and taunting chears

The woodmen raised o'er him whose stubborn pride

Had braved the seasons for an hundred years.

It seem'd a savage shout, a senseless scorn,

Nor long prevail'd amid the awful gloom;

Sad look'd the forest of her glory shorn,

Reverend with age, yet bright in vigour's bloom,

Slain in his hour of strength, a giant in his tomb.

I closed mine eyes, nor could I brook to gaze

On the wild havoc in one moment done;

Hateful to me shone forth the blessed sun,

As through the new form'd void he pour'd his rays.

Then rose a dream before my sleeping soul!

A wood-nymph tearing her dishevell'd hair,

And wailing loud, from a long vista stole,

And eyed the ruin with a fixed despair.

The velvet moss, that bath'd its roots in green,

For many a happy day had been her seat;

Than valley wide more dear this secret scene;

— She asked no music but the rustling sweet

Of the rejoicing leaves; now, all is gone,

That touch'd the Dryad's heart with pure delight.

Soon shall the axe destroy her fallen throne,

Its leaves of gold, its bark so glossy bright —

— But now she hastes away,— death-sickening at the sight!

A nobler shape supplied the Dryad's place;

Soon as I saw the spirit in her eye,

I knew the mountain-goddess, Liberty,

And in adoring reverence veil'd my face.

Smiling she stood beside the prostrate oak,

While a stern pleasure swell'd her lofty breast,

And thus, methought, in thrilling accents spoke —

“Not long, my darling Tree! must be thy rest!

Glorious thou wert, when towering through the skies

In winter-storms, or summer's balmy breath;

And thou, my Tree! shalt gloriously arise,

In life majestic, terrible in death!

For thou shalt float above the roaring wave,

Where flags, denouncing battle, stream afar;—

Thou wert, from birth, devoted to the brave,

And thou shalt sail on like a blazing star,

Bearing victorious NELSON through the storms of war!”