VIII. THE OAK AND THE BROOM. A PASTORAL. His simple truths did Andrew glean Beside the babbling rills; A careful student he had been Among the woods and hills. One winter's night, when through the Trees ۱ I saw a crag, a lofty stone As ever tempest beat! Out of its head an Oak had grown, A Broom out of its feet. The time was March, a cheerful noon The thaw-wind with the breath of June "Eight weary weeks, through rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge, The Frost hath wrought both night and day, Wedge driving after wedge. Look up! and think, above your head You are preparing as before Down from yon Cliff a fragment broke; This ponderous Block was caught by me, And o'er your head, as you may see, 'Tis hanging to this day! The Thing had better been asleep, Whatever thing it were, Or Breeze, or Bird, or Dog, or Sheep, That first did plant you there. For you and your green twigs decoy To come and slumber in your bower; VOL. I. S From me this friendly warning take" The Broom began to doze, And thus to keep herself awake Did gently interpose: "My thanks for your discourse are due; That it is true, and more than true, I know, and I have known it long; Disasters, do the best we can, Who is not wise at all. For me, why should I wish to roam? This spot is my paternal home, It is my pleasant Heritage; My Father many a happy year Attained a good old age. Even such as his may be my lot. What cause have I to haunt My heart with terrors? Am I not On me such bounty Summer pours The Butterfly, all green and gold, Here in my Blossoms to behold When grass is chill with rain or dew, |