Time passeth on.--The young tree rose A bold and noble thing; Each summer showed a leafier crest, And a longer shoot each spring. There came into the ancient wood Some stern official men; They marked the fairest, loftiest trees, And they were doomèd then. They glanced upon the tall young Oak, And quickly passed it by, And laughing harshly, said ’twould do By the next century. Soon through the forest’s solemn glades There rang that deathful sound, The woodman’s axe;--and crashing fell Trunks, branches, all around. Craftsmen of many kinds there came For that oak timber good, And carried it in loads away From its old native wood. Some floated far o’er ocean’s waves Mid stormy winds and squalls, Both merchant-ships, and men-of-war, “Old England’s Wooden Walls.” Some, raised on high, with rare device The royal roof support, And look down in the banquet-hall On king, and queen, and court. Some, quaintly carved, and polished fair, May shrine a pictured face, Of Dolci’s gentle loveliness, Or Raphael’s angel grace. And many a toilet mirror owes, Its flowered and gilded frame To the good trees of which I sing:-- Well have they won their fame! And massive tables, that have once Groaned ’neath baronial fare, If they could talk of that Oak wood, Might tell of dwelling there.-- The young Oak tree yet statelier grew, And broader spread its shade, And the dappled deer lay sheltered ’neath The canopy it made. Years came and went.--The Oak tree stood In full-grown prime and pride, And lords of various mind and mood Possessed those woodlands wide. The first, a reckless forester, Loved horse, and hawk, and hound, And he chased all o’er his wide domains, Wellnigh the whole year round. His lady fair, as dames were wont, In those long bygone days, Loved hawking too; and gallant trains She led through forest ways. ’Twas a merry and a winsome thing, When lord, and squire, and knight Rode forth, mid bugles ringing shrill, With dainty ladies bright, To sweep along by vale and hill, Or through the forest glade, Where the echoes of their laughter light A merry music made. And oft they reined their palfreys in Beneath the young Oak tree, And oft foretold how grand a thing In after-time ’twould be. These jocund sports passed all away; For direful civil war Spread its fell curse throughout the land, Wasting it near and far. And the next lord these broad lands had, A warrior stern was he, He dwelt with camps and cannon more Than sylvan glade and tree.