It seem’d like youth to see him young,
A flower in his father’s land!
But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh,
For the tree hath fallen, and the flower must die.
Say not ’tis vain! I tell thee, some
Are warn’d by a meteor’s light,
Or a pale bird, flitting, calls them home,
Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go! And he too, he!—
Woe for the fall of the glorious Tree!