Alas! alas! my good old tree, A fatal change is past on thee! And now thine aged form I see, All helpless, lying low:
The rending tempest, in its flight ‘ Mid darkness of the wintry night, Hath struck thee, passing in its might, And felled thee at a blow.
And never more the blooming spring Shall to thy boughs rich verdure bring, Or her gay birds, to flit and sing Where their first plumage grew;
For thou, so long, so fondly made My eye's delight, my summer shade, Here, as a lifeless king, art laid In state, for all to view.
Thy noble trunk and reverend head, Defined on that cold, snow-white bed, And those old arms, so widely spread, Thy hopelessness declare:
Thy roots, in earth concealed so long — That struck so deep, with hold so strong, Upturned with many a broken prong, Are quivering high in air.
But yester-eve I saw thee stand, With lofty front, with aspect grand, Where thou hadst braved the ruthless hand Of time, and spread, and towered;
And stood the rain, the hail, the blast, Till more than hundred years had passed: To fall so suddenly at last, Forever overpowered!
Yet, while I sadly ponder o'er What now thou art, and wast before, Were sighs to rise, and tears to pour, Like summer winds and rain;
Not all the sighs and drops of grief Could bring to thee one bud or leaf; Thou liest so like a stricken chief, By one swift arrow slain.
But may'st thou prove an emblem true Of what the spoiler's hand shall do With one, who pensive here would view A shadowy type in thee!
Let not the conqueror piecemeal slay, With power by power in slow decay; But strike, and all in ashes lay! Farewell, my good old tree!
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