That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth,
(Since which I number threescore winters past),
A shatter’d veteran, hollow-trunk’d perhaps,
As now, and with excoriate forks deform,
Relics of ages! Could a mind, imbued
With truth from Heaven, created thing adore,
I might with rev’rence kneel, and worship thee.
It seems idolatry with some excuse,
When our forefather Druids in their oaks,
Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet