V.—WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.

V.—WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.MORRIS.George P. Morris, an American writer, was born October 10, 1802, and died July 6, 1864. He was the author of many popular songs.

MORRIS.

George P. Morris, an American writer, was born October 10, 1802, and died July 6, 1864. He was the author of many popular songs.

1. Woodman, spare that tree;Touch not a single bough;In youth it sheltered me,And I’ll protect it now.’Twas my forefather’s[40]handThat placed it near his cot;Then, woodman, let it stand;Thy axe shall harm it not.2. That old, familiar[41]tree,Whose glory and renown[42]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 aged oak,Now towering[43]to the skies.3. When but an idle boy,I sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing[44]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.4. My heartstrings 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.

1. Woodman, spare that tree;

Touch not a single bough;

In youth it sheltered me,

And I’ll protect it now.

’Twas my forefather’s[40]hand

That placed it near his cot;

Then, woodman, let it stand;

Thy axe shall harm it not.

2. That old, familiar[41]tree,Whose glory and renown[42]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 aged oak,Now towering[43]to the skies.

2. That old, familiar[41]tree,

Whose glory and renown[42]

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 aged oak,

Now towering[43]to the skies.

3. When but an idle boy,I sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing[44]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.

3. When but an idle boy,

I sought its grateful shade;

In all their gushing[44]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.

4. My heartstrings 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.

4. My heartstrings 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.

[40]Foreˊfa-ther, an ancestor, as a grandfather, or great-grandfather.[41]Fa-milˊiar, well-known.[42]Re-nownˊ, fame, high honor.[43]Towˊer-ing, rising aloft.[44]Gushˊ-ing, flowing, exuberant, impulsive.

[40]Foreˊfa-ther, an ancestor, as a grandfather, or great-grandfather.

[41]Fa-milˊiar, well-known.

[42]Re-nownˊ, fame, high honor.

[43]Towˊer-ing, rising aloft.

[44]Gushˊ-ing, flowing, exuberant, impulsive.

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