THE OAK.

I looked upon the twilight Star,

And young blue eyes shone by my side,

And, with a lover's fondness, wished

It were a home for my sweet Bride!

Were my words sin, that I should have

To weep upon my fatal prayer?

My seat is by IANTHE's grave--

That twilight Star is shining there!

__________

- - - - It is the last survivor of a race

Strong in their forest-pride when I was young.

I can remember, when for miles around,

In place of those smooth meadows and corn-fields,

There stood ten thousand tall and stately trees,

Such as had braved the winds of March, the bolt

Sent by the summer lightning, and the snow

Heaping for weeks their boughs. Even in the depth

Of hot July the glades were cool; the grass,

Yellow and patched elsewhere, grew long and fresh,

Shading wild strawberries and violets,

Or the lark's nest; and overhead, the dove

Had her lone dwelling, paying for her home

With melancholy songs; and scarce a beech

Was there without a honeysuckle linked.

Around, with its red tendrils and pink flowers;

Or girdled by a brier rose, whose buds

Yield fragrant harvest for the honey-bee.

There dwelt the last red deer, those antler'd

kings. . . .

But this is as a dream,--the plough has pass'd

Where the stag bounded, and the day has looked

On the green twilight of the forest-trees.

This Oak has no companion! . . . .