A large tree has just been cut from the land of Mr. J. R. Marshall,
four miles from Columbia. At its base it was sixteen feet in diameter,
and out of it five logs ten feet long were cut, containing 7,650 feet
of lumber. The top of the tree made thirteen cords of wood.--Columbia
(Tenn.) Herald.
And I would weep for thee, thou monarch of the wood,
Thou king that long the scorn of Time has stood.
King by the royal right of strength alone--
With star-crowned head bared to the circling zone--
Of good deeds done, of sweetness and of mirth,
Scion of the sun, defender of the earth--
O, I would weep for thee.
And I would mourn for thee, ay, truly mourn,
For what thou wast, and all that thou hast borne.
Brother to the skies, companion to the hills,
Comrade of the clouds and mother of the rills,
Gatherer of dews, garnerer of herb and flowers,
Guardian of the muse in trysting twilight hours--
O, I would mourn for thee.
And I would honor thee for what thou’st done,
Scorner of winter’s wind and summer’s sun,
Builder of birds’ nests, brewer of bubbling pool,
Painter of shadows dark on landscapes cool,
Wafter of odors sweet on summer’s breeze;
Warrior of winter’s sleet and biting freeze--
O, I would honor thee.
And I would reverence thee, thou hoary one,
Thou who hast stood while centuries have run,
Thou who hast seen the Indian lover stand
While virgin moon smiled down on virgin land--
The ax, the rifle of the pioneer--
All these have passed, and all had left thee here--
And I would reverence thee.
O, Ax of Traffic, buzzing Saws of Trade,
Dost think for thee alone the Earth was made?
For thee, to garner clean her fields of corn,
With barren hills to greet the babe unborn;
For thee, to glutton in her sweet-stored vine!
And leave no grape on fainting Future’s vine?