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THE LAST TREE IN THE FOREST.
189
"And the minstrel, resting in my shade,
Hath made the forest ring
With the lordly tales of the high Crusade,
Once loved by chief and king.
"But now the noble forms are gone,
That walk'd the earth of old;
The soft wind hath a mournful tone,
The sunny light looks cold.
"There is no glory left us now,
Like the glory with the dead:—
I would that where they slumber low
My latest leaves were shed!"
Oh! thou dark Tree, thou lonely Tree,
That mournest for the past!
A peasant's home in thy shades I see,
Embower'd from every blast.
