And if e'er they pay the honour
On a frigate to erect thee
As a proud and stately mast, still
Thou art but a smooth-skinned fir-tree,
Without roots there lonely standing;
And thou yearnest on the ocean
For thy old home in the forest,
Till at last a flash of lightning
Mast and ship and all destroyeth.
High old fir-tree, green old fir-tree!