Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Last Tree of the Forest

The Last Tree of the Forest.

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 now men 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, The wave of many a plume,And the bounding of a hundred deer, It ht the woodland's gloom.

"I have seen the knight and his train ride past, With banner borne on high;O'er all my leaves 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.

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

"The minstrel resting in the shade, Hath made the forest ring,With the lordly tales of the high crusade, Once loved by chiefs 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 now, My latest leaves were shed!"

O thou dark tree, thou lonely tree, That mournest for the past,A peasant's home in thy shade 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 nought to fear.

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

The village bells are on the breeze That stirs thy leaf, dark tree!How can I mourn, midst things like these, For the gloomy past with thee?