XI.
I see an oak before me:[290] it hath been
The crown’d one of the woods; and might have flung
Its hundred arms to heaven, still freshly green;
But a wild vine around the stem hath clung,
From branch to branch close wreaths of bondage throwing,
Till the proud tree, before no tempest bowing,
Hath shrunk and died those serpent folds among.
Alas! alas! what is it that I see?
An image of man’s mind, land of my sires, with thee!