Poems (Acton)/The Ivy and the Oak
THE IVY AND THE OAK.
There stood an oak, a gallant oak,
Within a forest proud,
And high above the woodman's stroke
Its leafy branches bowed;
The lord amid the woodland scene
Of all that flourished near,
And round its trunk the ivy green
Had twined for many a year.
Within a forest proud,
And high above the woodman's stroke
Its leafy branches bowed;
The lord amid the woodland scene
Of all that flourished near,
And round its trunk the ivy green
Had twined for many a year.
O fondly did the ivy cling,
Around that stately tree,
And lovely in the budding spring
Its leaves were wont to be.
No storm its clasping stem could move
As round each branch it grew,
And oft the oak had said its love
Was with the ivy true.
Around that stately tree,
And lovely in the budding spring
Its leaves were wont to be.
No storm its clasping stem could move
As round each branch it grew,
And oft the oak had said its love
Was with the ivy true.
But one sad day a nightingale,
From its woodbine scented glade,
And the roses of the sunny vale,
To the forest's shelter strayed;
And chose the kingly oak so high
Its resting-place to make,
And the tree forgot the ivy nigh,
For the gifted stranger's sake.
From its woodbine scented glade,
And the roses of the sunny vale,
To the forest's shelter strayed;
And chose the kingly oak so high
Its resting-place to make,
And the tree forgot the ivy nigh,
For the gifted stranger's sake.
O the ivy wept both day and night,
Such altered love to know,
And scarcely seemed the sunbeams bright,
To its heart so choked with woe;
But the faithless oak still prized the bird,
With its silv'ry notes so rare;
And its melody the forest heard,
Through the balmy summer air.
Such altered love to know,
And scarcely seemed the sunbeams bright,
To its heart so choked with woe;
But the faithless oak still prized the bird,
With its silv'ry notes so rare;
And its melody the forest heard,
Through the balmy summer air.
The steps of winter, silently,
Came stealing o'er the earth,
And the flowers bent them down to die,
And the leaves forgot their mirth;
And the nightingale, without a look
Of gratitude or pain,
The high and stately oak forsook
For its woodbine home again.
Came stealing o'er the earth,
And the flowers bent them down to die,
And the leaves forgot their mirth;
And the nightingale, without a look
Of gratitude or pain,
The high and stately oak forsook
For its woodbine home again.
Then the tree's proud heart with shame was torn,
So lightly prized to be;
And the woods around beheld with scorn
Its slighted majesty.
The glow-worms in their leafy bower
Laughed gleefully below,
And shook with mirth each forest flower,
Its lowered pride to know.
So lightly prized to be;
And the woods around beheld with scorn
Its slighted majesty.
The glow-worms in their leafy bower
Laughed gleefully below,
And shook with mirth each forest flower,
Its lowered pride to know.
But though so long thrown coldly by,
The ivy nearer drew,
And o'er the drooping branches nigh
Its brightest leaves it threw;
And never when the dewy spring
Came forth in beauty free,
Did the ivy e'er so firmly cling,
As round that humbled tree.
And dearly for such trusting careThe ivy nearer drew,
And o'er the drooping branches nigh
Its brightest leaves it threw;
And never when the dewy spring
Came forth in beauty free,
Did the ivy e'er so firmly cling,
As round that humbled tree.
Did the oak its duty prove,
Nor turned again for aught more fair,
From its fond and ancient love;
But proudly in the forest's shade
Stood long unchanged and true,
And when the stately oak decayed,
The ivy withered too!
H. A.