Now, Time, the ablest workman there,
’ll lay the forest bleak and bare.—
Listen to the crackling sound,
As they topple to the ground;
And where, like antler’d deer asleep,
They calmly lie upon the steep:
But not like them—to rise again
To grace the hillock, vale, or plain,
Or bound the fence: for ever dead—
Lopp’d and chopp’d from foot to head