Old Father Time sad change hath made With mildew from his raven wing Since we were friends, old Summer-shade, And heard the Nymphs their carols sing; But thou, majestic on the lea, Art still the same, old Beechen Tree. Had thy broad sheltering boughs a tongue And voice to tell of other days, As when in buoyant youth we sung To "nymphs and graces" roundelays; Then were thine eloquence to me An angel-song, old Beechen Tree. And yet, methinks thou hast a strain That to my very soul replies, As when the gentle summer rain On every bough breathes melodies: Like music wafted on the sea, Thy sad lone song, old Beechen Tree. But heart's-ease joys are pass'd away As fades the leaf in chilly frost; I ask for childhood's holiday, And Silence answers, "It is lost"; Gone with the loves and mirthful glee By pale moonlight, old Beechen Tree. The names carv'd on thy trunk are there; The garland dance and May-queen gone Like vapors wafted on the air, Like shadows passing o'er the lawn; And only live in memory Those pictured scenes, old Beechen Tree. Old tree! thy spreading arms today, In green old age, are beauteous still; But the sweet "Wood Nymphs," where are they, The measure of our joy to fill? No answer comes; I only see Thy length'ning shadows, brave old tree! |