200 ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. 



OH leave this barren spot to me, 

 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 

 Though shrub or flow'ret never grow, 

 My wan unwanning shade below, 

 Nor fruits of autumn blossom born 

 My green and glossy leaves adorn, 

 Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 

 The ambrosial treasures of the hive, 

 Yet leave this little spot to me, 

 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree. 



Thrice twenty summers have I stood 

 In bloomless, fruitless solitude; 

 Since childhood in my rustling bower 

 First spent its sweet and sportive hour, 

 Since youthful lovers in my shade 

 Their vows of truth and rapture paid, 

 And on my trunk's surviving frame 

 Carv'd many a long forgotten name. 

 Oh, by the vows of gentle sound 

 First breathed upon this sacred ground, 

 Ety all that Love hath whispered here, 

 Or Beauty heard with ravish'd ear, 

 As Love's own altar honor me, 

 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree. 



THOMAS CAMPBELL. 



SONG OF THE ROSE. 



IF Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth, 

 He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it; 

 For the rose, ho, the rose ! is the grace of the earth, 

 Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it ! 

 For the rose, ho, the rose ! is the eye of the flowers, 

 Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair, 

 Is the lightning of beauty, that strikes through the bowers 

 On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware. 

 Ho, the rose breathes of love ! ho, the rose lifts the cup 

 To the red eyes of Cypris invoked for a guest ! 

 Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world 

 Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up, 

 As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 



