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!