WOODNOTES 153 



He goes to my savage haunts, 

 With his chariot and his care ; 

 My twilight realm he disenchants, 

 And finds his prison there. 



"What prizes the town and the tower? 



Only what the pine-tree yields; 



Sinew that subdued the fields; 



The wild-eyed boy, who in the woods 



Chants his hymn to hills and floods, 



Whom the city's poisoning spleen 



Made not pale, or fat, or lean ; 



Whom the rain and the wind purgeth, 



Whom the dawn and the day-star urgeth, 



In whose cheek the rose-leaf blusheth, 



In whose feet the lion rusheth. 



Iron arms and iron mold, 



That know not fear, fatigue or cold. 



I give my rafters to his boat, 



My billets to his boiler's throat, 



And I will swim the ancient sea 



To float my child to victory, 



And grant to dwellers with the pine 



Dominion o'er the palm and vine. 



Who leaves the pine-tree leaves his friend, 



Unnerves his strength, invites his end. 



Cut a bough from my parent stem, 



And dip it in thy porcelain vase ; 



A little while each russet gem 



