THE DEAD TREE IN THE FOREST.
145
There was music in the fountain
That went sparkling at his feet;
There was sweetness where the flowers
Nestled in their green retreat;
And the southern breezes offered
(Wandering joyous and elate),
Incense to his lofty comrades,
Heedless of his lone estate.
That went sparkling at his feet;
There was sweetness where the flowers
Nestled in their green retreat;
And the southern breezes offered
(Wandering joyous and elate),
Incense to his lofty comrades,
Heedless of his lone estate.
And the deep and far-off river,
Whose majestic murmurs stole
On the air with gathering glory,
Like the swelling of a soul
When it bounds, to burst asunder
Bands that held it captive long,
Failed to waken one pulsation
With its ever-sounding song.
Whose majestic murmurs stole
On the air with gathering glory,
Like the swelling of a soul
When it bounds, to burst asunder
Bands that held it captive long,
Failed to waken one pulsation
With its ever-sounding song.
Yet the sunset, softly sparkling,
Fell upon his aged brow,
And his bare and withered branches
Smiled beneath the summer-glow;
And I read my heart a lesson
Of that old and lonely tree,
As it stood within the sunshine,
Looking upward reverently.
Fell upon his aged brow,
And his bare and withered branches
Smiled beneath the summer-glow;
And I read my heart a lesson
Of that old and lonely tree,
As it stood within the sunshine,
Looking upward reverently.
Like a poor man, 'midst the grandeur
And the glory of the great,
Standing silent and forsaken,
Sad, forlorn, and desolate,—
And the glory of the great,
Standing silent and forsaken,
Sad, forlorn, and desolate,—
