Through Northern Climes, and o’er the frozen Bed }
Of Icy Death, and o’er the unwounded Dead— }
But Man to Man, and Troop to Troop, the last
Hard Strife for Conquest—and then all was past.
Here stood this Tree, and, tho’ no more it stands,
Its very Picture our Respect commands,
Thanks to the Skill that gives to many an Eye
The view that every Heart must gratify.
Trees may, perhaps, of loftier kind be found,
But none more glorious in the World around.