And in this wisdom of the Holly-tree

Can emblem see

Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme,One which may profit in the after-time.

Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear
Harsh and austere;

To those who on my leisure would intrude,
Reserved and rude;

Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be,

Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.

And should my youth-as youth is apt, I know,— Some harshness show,

All vain asperities I, day by day,

Would wear away,

Till the smooth temper of my age should be
Like the high leaves upon the Holly-tree.

And as, when all the summer trees are seen
So bright and green,

The Holly-leaves their fadeless hues display
Less bright than they;

But when the bare and wintry woods we see,
What then so cheerful as the Holly-tree?—

So, serious should my youth appear among
The thoughtless throng;

So would I seem, amid the young and gay,
More grave than they;

That in my age as cheerful I might be
As the green winter of the Holly-tree.

Robert Southey [1774-1843]

THE PINE

THE elm lets fall its leaves before the frost,
The very oak grows shivering and sere,
The trees are barren when the summer's lost:
But one tree keeps its goodness all the year.

"Woodman, Spare That Tree" 1365

Green pine, unchanging as the days go by,
Thou art thyself beneath whatever sky:

My shelter from all winds, my own strong pine,
'Tis spring, 'tis summer, still, while thou art mine.
Augusta Webster [1837-1894]

"WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE”

WOODMAN, spare that tree! a

Touch not a single bough!

In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot;
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,-
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!

Cut not its earth-bound ties;

O, spare that agèd oak,
Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy

I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy

Here, too, my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;

My father pressed my hand-
Forgive this foolish tear,

But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,

Close as thy bark, old friend!

Here shall the wild-bird sing,

And still thy branches bend.

Old tree! the storm still brave!

And, woodman, leave the spot;
While I've a hand to save,

Thy axe shall harm it not.

George Pope Morris [1802-1864]

THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION

O LEAVE this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Though bush or floweret never grow
My dark unwarming shade below;
Nor summer bud perfume the dew
Of rosy blush, or yellow hue;
Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born,
My green and glossy leaves adorn;
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive
Th' ambrosial amber of the hive;

Yet leave this barren spot to me:

Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!

Thrice twenty summers I have seen
The sky grow bright, the forest green;
And many a wintry wind have stood
In bloomless, fruitless solitude,
Since childhood in my pleasant bower
First spent its sweet and sportive hour;
Since youthful lovers in my shade
Their vows of truth and rapture made,
And on my trunk's surviving frame
Carved many a long-forgotten name.
Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound,
First breathed upon this sacred ground;
By all that Love has whispered here,
Or Beauty heard with ravished ear;
As Love's own altar honor me:
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
Thomas Campbell (1777–1844]

The Planting of the Apple-Tree 1367

THE POPLAR FIELD

THE poplars are felled; farewell to the shade;
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade;
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.

Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view
Of my favorite field, and the bank where they grew;
And now in the grass behold they are laid,

And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.

The blackbird has fled to another retreat,

Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat;
And the scene where his melody charmed me before
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.

My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,

With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.

'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.

William Cowper [1731-1800]

THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE

COME, let us plant the apple-tree.

Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;

Wide let its hollow bed be made;

There gently lay the roots, and there
Sift the dark mould with kindly care,

And press it o'er them tenderly,
As, round the sleeping infant's feet,
We softly fold the cradle-sheet;

So plant we the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?

Buds, which the breath of summer days

Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;

Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,

Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest;

We plant, upon the sunny lea,

A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May-wind's restless wings, When, from the orchard-row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors;

A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple-tree.

What plant we in this apple-tree?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon,
And drop, when gentle airs come by,
That fan the blue September sky,

While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
At the foot of the apple-tree.

And when, above this apple-tree,
The winter stars are quivering bright,
And winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth,

And guests in prouder homes shall see,
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine
And golden orange of the line,

The fruit of the apple-tree.