98
Not Understood
TO SIR GEORGE GREY, K.C.B.
WITHIN a forest stood a grand old tree,
Whose head above the other plants rose high;
He was the forest’s first-born. Sun and sky
Had known him, and had smiled on him ere he
Had kinsfolk near, or leafy brethren nigh;
The wild birds brought to him their minstrelsy;
The singers knew that when the scene was rude,
He grew and gave a shelter to their race.
By him the wandering melodists were wooed
To thrill and warble in that lonely place;
A sanctury in the solitude
He gave to them. In him the birds could trace
The forest’s king, and so from hills and plains
They flew to him, and sang their sweetest strains.
Whose head above the other plants rose high;
He was the forest’s first-born. Sun and sky
Had known him, and had smiled on him ere he
Had kinsfolk near, or leafy brethren nigh;
The wild birds brought to him their minstrelsy;
The singers knew that when the scene was rude,
He grew and gave a shelter to their race.
By him the wandering melodists were wooed
To thrill and warble in that lonely place;
A sanctury in the solitude
He gave to them. In him the birds could trace
The forest’s king, and so from hills and plains
They flew to him, and sang their sweetest strains.
