THE DEAD TREE.
I SAW it with leafy honors crowned
By a crystal streamlet's side,
And its long, fair boughs in their graceful play
Stooped down to the gentle tide.
I lingered once beneath its shade
At the noon of a summer day;
When youth's high pulse through my temples beat
In its swift and burning way.
And many a thought of my questioning heart
Went out on restless wing,
To the unseen's far and shoreless waves,
Some tidings thence to bring.
Blest, blest and beautiful seemed all things,
Green earth and the holy sky,
And soul with its wondrous, fearful gifts,
And doom of mystery.
Years passed; from distant and stranger homes
I came with a colder brow;
But at nature's altars wreathed and pure,
My spirit still could bow.
The crystal stream on its winding way
My footsteps traced once more,
And a dim sweet thought of other days
Led softly on before,
To where a circling emerald wall
Caught the laughing waves to rest,
For a moment charmed and placidly
In its violet-scented breast.
And there, far down in the stillness glossed,
All riven, bleak, and gray,
Was a giant form that frowned above,
Though kissed by the summer ray.
Then a mist came over the sunbeam's light,
The breeze swept chillingly,
And something mourned within my heart,
But not for the blighted tree.
For a vision came with a lordly bow,
And stood beside me there,
With pride-wreathed lips and a clear dark eye—
Away—'twas a thing of air.
Yet a being like it on earth once dwelt,
With men thus high and cold;
But the valley's clods press heavily
And mute o'er the spoils they hold.
A deep pall covered the wasted corse,
A deeper the passing soul;
A name that stands like yon gray, sad tree,
Was the proud man's earthly goal.