Old Ballads

by Various

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE.

Woodman, spare that tree,
Touch not a single bough—
In youth it shelter'd me,
And I'll protect it now.
Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot.
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree,
Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
Say, wouldst thou hack it down?

Woodman, forbear thy stroke,
Cut not its earth-bound ties—
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now, towering to the skies.
Oft, when a careless child,
Beneath its shade I heard
The wood-notes sweet and wild,
Of many a forest bird.
By mother kiss'd me here,
My father press'd my hand,
I ask thee, with a tear,
Oh, let that old oak stand.

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close at thy bark, old friend—
Here shall the wild bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree, the storm still brave,
And, woodman, leave the spot—
While I've a hand to save
Thy axe shall harm it not.

General G.P. Morris.