Of argument, employed too oft amiss, Sifts half the pleasures of short life away! Thou fellest mature: and in the loamy clod Swelling with vegetative force instinct Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins,° 35 And, all the elements thy puny growth. Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig. Who lived when thou wast such? Oh, couldst thou speak, As in Dodona° once thy kindred trees Oracular, I would not curious, ask The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, 40 45 49 a cave Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods, And Time hath made thee what thou art For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs O'erhung the champaign; and the numerous flocks That grazed it stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded, yet safe-sheltered from the storm. No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived Thy popularity, and art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. 55 61 While thus through all the stages thou hast pushed Of girth enormous, with moss cushioned root What exhibitions various hath the world That we account most durable below! In all that live, plant, animal, and man, 65 And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, 80 Fine passing thought, e'en in her coarsest works, Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force, that agitates, not unimpaired; Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly 85 90 Could shake thee to the root and time has been When tempests could not. At thy firmest age Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents, That might have ribbed the sides and planked the deck 95 Of some flagged admiral°; and tortuous arms, 105 Achieved a labor, which had far and wide, 110 Embowelled now, and of thy ancient self Possessing nought but the scooped rind, that seems An huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink, Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, Thou temptest none, but rather much forbiddest The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, Which, crooked into a thousand whimsies, clasp The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, Though all the superstructure, by the tooth Pulverized of venality, a shell Stands now, and semblance only of itself! 115 120 Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them off Long since, and rovers of the forest wild 125 With bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have left A splintered stump, bleached to a snowy white; 130 Even where death predominates. The Spring One man alone, the father of us all, 135 140 145 150 155 With love and wisdom, rendered back to Heaven Minority. No tutor charged his hand. With the thought-tracing quill, or tasked his mind With problems. History, not wanted yet, K |