Whisper, thou tree, thou lonely tree,
One, where a thousand stood!
Well might proud tales be told by thee,
Last of the solemn wood!
Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs,
With leaves yet darkly green?
Stillness is round, and noontide glows--
Tell us what thou hast seen!
“I have seen the forest-shadows lie
Where now men reap the corn;
I have seen the kingly chase rush by,
Through the deep glades at morn.
“With the glance of many a gallant spear
And the wave of many a plume,
And the bounding of a hundred deer
It hath lit the woodland’s gloom.
“I have seen the knight and his train ride past,
With his banner borne on high;
O’er all my leaves there was brightness cast
From his gleamy panoply.
“The pilgrim at my feet hath laid
His palm-branch ’midst the flowers,
And told his beads, and meekly pray’d,
Kneeling at vesper-hours.
“And the merry men of wild and glen,
In the green array they wore,
Have feasted here with the red wine’s cheer,
And the hunter-songs of yore.
“And the minstrel, resting in my shade,
Hath made the forest ring
With the lordly tales of the high crusade,
Once loved by chief and king.
“But now the noble forms are gone,
That walk’d the earth of old;
The soft wind hath a mournful tone,
The sunny light looks cold.
“There is no glory left us now
like the glory with the dead:--
I would that where they slumber low,
My latest leaves were shed.”
Oh! thou dark tree, thou lonely tree,
That mournest for the past!
A peasant’s home in thy shade I see,
Embower’d from every blast.
A lovely and a mirthful sound
Of laughter meets mine ear;
For the poor man’s children sport around
On the turf, with nought to fear.
And roses lend that cabin’s wall
A happy summer-glow,
And the open door stands free to all,
For it recks not of a foe.
And the village-bells are on the breeze
That stirs thy leaf, dark tree!--
--How can I mourn, amidst things like these,
For the stormy past with thee?