TO AN OLD OAK.Immota manet; multosque nepotes,Multa virûm volvens durando sæcula, vincit.VIRG.Round thee, alas, no shadows move!From thee no sacred murmurs breathe!Yet within thee, thyself a grove,Once did the eagle scream above,And the wolf howl beneath.There once the steel-clad knight reclin’d,His sable plumage tempest-toss’d;And, as the death-bell smote the wind,From towers long fled by human kind,His brow the hero cross’d!Then Culture came, and days serene,And village-sports, and garlands gay.Full many a pathway cross’d the green;And maids and shepherd-youths were seen,To celebrate the May.Father of many a forest deep,(Whence many a navy thunder-fraught)Erst in their acorn-cells asleep,Soon destin’d o’er the world to sweep,Opening new spheres of thought!Wont in the night of woods to dwell,The holy druid saw thee rise;And, planting there the guardian-spell,Sung forth, the dreadful pomp to swellOf human sacrifice!Thy singed top and branches bareNow straggle in the evening sky;And the wan moon wheels round to glareOn the long corse that shivers thereOf him who came to die!
Immota manet; multosque nepotes,Multa virûm volvens durando sæcula, vincit.
VIRG.
Round thee, alas, no shadows move!From thee no sacred murmurs breathe!Yet within thee, thyself a grove,Once did the eagle scream above,And the wolf howl beneath.There once the steel-clad knight reclin’d,His sable plumage tempest-toss’d;And, as the death-bell smote the wind,From towers long fled by human kind,His brow the hero cross’d!Then Culture came, and days serene,And village-sports, and garlands gay.Full many a pathway cross’d the green;And maids and shepherd-youths were seen,To celebrate the May.Father of many a forest deep,(Whence many a navy thunder-fraught)Erst in their acorn-cells asleep,Soon destin’d o’er the world to sweep,Opening new spheres of thought!Wont in the night of woods to dwell,The holy druid saw thee rise;And, planting there the guardian-spell,Sung forth, the dreadful pomp to swellOf human sacrifice!Thy singed top and branches bareNow straggle in the evening sky;And the wan moon wheels round to glareOn the long corse that shivers thereOf him who came to die!