Hard by an ancient mansion stood an oak;
For centuries, 'twas said, it had been there:
The old towers crumbled 'neath decay's slow stroke,
While, hall by hall, upgrew a palace fair;
Lives and momentous eras waxed and waned,
Old barons died, and barons young and gay
Ruled in their stead, and still the oak remained,
And each new spring seemed older not a day.
The vesture of the spirit of mankind,—
Forms and beliefs, like meteors, rise and set;
The spirit too doth change; but o'er the mind
This old Evangel holds young lordship yet;
And here among Canadian snows we bring
Each Christmastide our tribute to the King.
RECREATION.
Give me a cottage embower'd in trees,
Far from the press and the din of the town;
There let me loiter and live at my ease,
Happier far than the King with his crown.
There let the music that's sweeter than words
Waken my soul's inarticulate song,
Murmur of zephyrs and warbling of birds,
Babble of waters that hurry along.
Under the shade of the maple and beech
Let me in tranquil contentment recline,
Learning what nature and solitude teach,
Charming philosophy, human, divine;
Finding how trivial the myriad things
Life is concern'd with, to seek or to shun;
Seeing the sources whence blessedness springs,
Gathering strength for the work to be done.
PAESTUM.