The fearless monarch—old, yet hale,
More proud than in his youth—
Laughs and enjoys the passing gale,
Is happy; and—forsooth—
He’s like a king (who chance be good)
Surrounded by his court,
Or like a lord of merry mood,
Obtains a meet report.
He loves the fair one’s gentle touch,
The squeeze of hardier hands;
And with a bow—no elms can match—
Conveys “he understands.”
Two hundred winters now have fled
Since forth the seedling came;
A hundred more may crown his head,
Ere his is but a name.
Soft zephyrs shall caress his crown,
And curl around his form;
Horus, of old, shall oft go down;
While many a dreadful storm
Shall drench the monarch to the skin,
And ravage Bagot’s Park,
Ere his stout heart shall yield within
Its noble coat of bark.
Though grand his mien, he never boasts,
Nor e’er usurps the green;
But loves to see the minor hosts
Salute his distant queen.[93]
Many a tourist scans this oak:[94]
Some, measuring round his base,[95]
Exclaim, “’Tis worth a march to look
Upon his fine old face!”
Now when he’s angry (true ’tis not
That often he doth frown),
And when the winds, concerting, plot
To hurl him from his throne,
’Tis then he asserts his majesty,
And lifts his powerful voice;
But when the storm hath passèd by,
You will again rejoice
To see him as he deigns to laugh
And gently bend his head,
Inviting you to come, and quaff
Upon the grassy bed,—
(On which, and ’round about, regale
The antler’d buck, and deer,
And goats, and feather’d tribes,) t’inhale
The perfumes of the year.
Profoundly silent,[96] acres lay
Invig’rated by Time;
Whilst shelt’ring woodlands make them gay,
And deck the favour’d clime.
O! may’st thou[97] live to teach the young
The secret of that gift,
Through which thou’st grown so great, so strong,
Before thy trunk is rift;
That each may wear upon his brow,
Like thine—an honest mark,
And so retain, as thou dost now,
The pride of “Bagot’s Park.”[98]
[91] Supposed to be more than two centuries old.
[92] In Staffordshire.
[93] Another very large oak, called the “Queen.”
[94] The King.
[95] About twenty-four feet round, as measured by the author (of the
poem) and his friend, Mr. E. Emery, of Abbots Bromley.
[96] Land, in its forest-like condition.
[97] The “Kingly Oak”.
[98] This poem was composed during the author’s visit to his friend, J.
C——, Newcastle-under-Lyme, Sept., 1865.