YES! I have seen the ancient oak | |
| On the dark deep water cast, | |
| And it was not felled by the woodman’s stroke, | |
| Or the rush of the sweeping blast; | |
| For the axe might never touch that tree, | 5 |
| And the air was still as a summer sea. | |
| |
| I saw it fall, as falls a chief | |
| By an arrow in the fight, | |
| And the old woods shook, to their loftiest leaf, | |
| At the crashing of its might; | 10 |
| And the startled deer to their coverts drew, | |
| And the spray of the lake as a fountain’s flew! | |
| |
| ’T is fallen! But think thou not I weep | |
| For the forest’s pride o’erthrown,— | |
| An old man’s tears lie far too deep | 15 |
| To be poured for this alone: | |
| But by that sign too well I know | |
| That a youthful head must soon be low! | |
| |
| A youthful head, with its shining hair, | |
| And its bright quick-flashing eye; | 20 |
| Well may I weep! for the boy is fair, | |
| Too fair a thing to die! | |
| But on his brow the mark is set,— | |
| O, could my life redeem him yet! | |
| |
| He bounded by me as I gazed | 25 |
| Alone on the fatal sign, | |
| And it seemed like sunshine when he raised | |
| His joyous glance to mine. | |
| With a stag’s fleet step he bounded by, | |
| So full of life,—but he must die! | 30 |
| |
| He must, he must! in that deep dell, | |
| By that dark water’s side, | |
| ’T is known that ne’er a proud tree fell | |
| But an heir of his fathers died. | |
| And he,—there ’s laughter in his eye, | 35 |
| Joy in his voice,—yet he must die! | |
| |
| I ’ve borne him in these arms, that now | |
| Are nerveless and unstrung; | |
| And must I see, on that fair brow, | |
| The dust untimely flung? | 40 |
| I must!—yon green oak, branch and crest, | |
| Lies floating on the dark lake’s breast! | |
| |
| The noble boy!—how proudly sprung | |
| The falcon from his hand! | |
| It seemed like youth to see him young, | 45 |
| A flower in his father’s land! | |
| But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh, | |
| For the tree hath fallen, and the flower must die. | |
| |
| Say not ’t is vain! I tell thee, some | |
| Are warned by a meteor’s light, | 50 |
| Or a pale bird, flitting, calls them home, | |
| Or a voice on the winds by night; | |
| And they must go! And he too, he! | |
| Woe for the fall of the glorious tree! | |
| |
