71
FROM THE BARD’S
ADDRESS TO A BIRCH TREE,
THAT HAD BEEN CONVERTED INTO A MAY-POLE IN THE TOWN OF LLANIDLOES, IN MONTGOMERYSHIRE.
Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks!
And reckless mind—long hast thou been
A wand’rer from thy native rocks;
With canopy of tissue green,
And stem that mid the sylvan scene
A sceptre of the forest stood—
Thou art a traitress to the wood!
How oft, in May’s short nights of old,
To my love-messenger and me
Thou didst a couch of leaves unfold!
Thou wert a house of melody,—
Proud music soared from every bough;
Ah! those who loved thee sorrow now!
Thy living branches teemed and rang
With every song the woodlands know,
And every woodland flow’ret sprang
To life—thy spreading tent below.
Proud guardian of the public way,
Such wert thou, while thou didst obey
The counsel of my beauteous bride—
And in thy native grove reside!
