Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LAST TREE OF THE FOREST, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LAST TREE OF THE FOREST, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Whisper, thou tree, thou lonely tree
Last Line: For the stormy past, with thee?
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Trees


WHISPER, thou Tree, thou lonely Tree,
One, where a thousand stood!
Well might proud tales be told by thee,
Last of the solemn wood!

Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs,
With leaves yet darkly green?
Stillness is round, and noontide glows --
Tell us what thou hast seen

"I have seen the forest shadows lie
Where men now reap the corn;
I have seen the kingly chase rush by,
Through the deep glades at morn.

"With the glance of many a gallant spear,
And the wave of many a plume,
And the bounding of a hundred deer,
It hath lit the woodland's gloom.

"I have seen the knight and his train ride past,
With his banner borne on high;
O'er all my leaves there was brightness cast
From his gleaming panoply.

"The Pilgrim at my feet hath laid
His palm branch 'midst the flowers,
And told his beads, and meekly prayed,
Kneeling, at vesper-hours.

"And the merry-men of wild and glen,
In the green array they wore,
Have feasted here with the red wine's cheer,
And the hunter's song of yore.

"And the minstrel, resting in my shade,
Hath made the forest ring
With the lordly tales of the high Crusade,
Once loved by chief and king.

"But now the noble forms are gone,
That walked the earth of old;
The soft wind hath a mournful tone,
The sunny light looks cold.

"There is no glory left us now,
Like the glory with the dead: --
I would that where they slumber low
My latest leaves were shed!"

Oh! thou dark Tree, thou lonely Tree,
That mournest for the past!
A peasant's home in thy shades I see,
Embowered from every blast.

A lovely and a mirthful sound
Of laughter meets mine ear;
For the poor man's children sport around
On the turf, with naught to fear.

And roses lend that cabin's wall
A happy summer-glow;
And the open door stands free to all,
For it recks not of a foe.

And the village bells are on the breeze,
That stirs thy leaf, dark Tree!
How can I mourn, 'midst things like these,
For the stormy past, with thee?





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