146
THE PLANTING.
And my pretty tree be dead,
How the sun will scorch my head,
How I shall sit lorn, repining!
How the sun will scorch my head,
How I shall sit lorn, repining!
"Rather let me, evermore,
An incessant watch thus keeping,
Bear the cold, the storm, the frost,
That my treasure be not lost—
Ay, bear aught—but idle sleeping."
An incessant watch thus keeping,
Bear the cold, the storm, the frost,
That my treasure be not lost—
Ay, bear aught—but idle sleeping."
Sternly said the father then,
"Who art thou, child, vainly grieving?
Canst thou send the balmy dews,
Or the rich sap interfuse
Through the dead trunk, inly living?
"Who art thou, child, vainly grieving?
Canst thou send the balmy dews,
Or the rich sap interfuse
Through the dead trunk, inly living?
"Canst thou bid the heavens restrain
Natural tempests for thy praying?
Canst thou bend one tender shoot,
Urge the growth of one frail root,
Keep one leaflet from decaying?
Natural tempests for thy praying?
Canst thou bend one tender shoot,
Urge the growth of one frail root,
Keep one leaflet from decaying?
"If it live to bloom all fair,
Will it praise thee for its blossom?
If it die, will any plaints
Reach thee, as with kings and saints
Drops it to the cold earth's bosom?
Will it praise thee for its blossom?
If it die, will any plaints
Reach thee, as with kings and saints
Drops it to the cold earth's bosom?
