Still shall they lie, though tempests o’er them sweep;
Never may flower be strewn above their grave,
Never may sister weep!
And thou, the billow’s queen—even thy proud form
On our glad sight no more perchance may swell;
Yet God alike is in the calm and storm—
Fare thee well, bark! farewell!
THE LAST TREE OF THE FOREST.
Whisper, thou Tree, thou lonely Tree,
One, where a thousand stood!