OAK TREE. 299 



That grazed it, stood beneath that ample cope 

 Uncrowded, yet safe sheltered ftom the stonn. 



***** 



While thus through all the stages thou hast pushed 

 Of treeship first a seedling, hid in grass ; 

 Then twig ; then sapling, and as century rolled 

 Slow after century, a giant bulk 

 Of girth enormous, with moss-cushioned root 

 Upheaved above the soil, and sides embossed 

 With prominent wens globose till at the last 

 The rottenness, which time is charged to'inflict 

 On other mighty ones, found also thee. 

 * . * 



Embowelled now, and of thy ancient self 

 Possessing nought but the scooped rind, that seems 

 An huge throat calling to the clouds for drink, 

 Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, 

 Thou temptest none, but rather much forbid'st 

 The feller's toil, which thou could'st ill requite. 

 Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, 

 A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, 

 Which, crooked into a thousand whimsies, clasp 

 The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. 



Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them off 

 Long since ; and rovers of the forest wild 

 With bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have left 

 A splintered stump, bleached to a snowy white ; 

 And some memorial none where once they grew. 

 Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth 

 Proof not contemptible of what she can, 

 Even where death predominates. The spring 

 Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force, 

 Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood, 

 So much thy juniors, who their birth received 

 Half a millenium since the date of thine." 



