Thy noble trunk and reverend head, Defined on that cold, snow-white bed, And those old arms, so widely spread, Thy hopelessness declare: Thy roots, in earth concealed so long-- That struck so deep, with hold so strong, Upturned with many a broken prong, Are quivering high in air. But yester-eve I saw thee stand, With lofty front, with aspect grand, Where thou hadst braved the ruthless hand Of time, and spread, and towered; And stood the rain, the hail, the blast, Till more than hundred years had passed: To fall so suddenly at last, Forever overpowered! Yet, while I sadly ponder o'er What now thou art, and wast before, Were sighs to rise, and tears to pour, Like summer winds and rain; Not all the sighs and drops of grief Could bring to thee one bud or leaf; Thou liest so like a stricken chief, By one swift arrow slain. But may'st thou prove an emblem true Of what the spoiler's hand shall do With one, who pensive here would view A shadowy type in thee! Let not the conqueror piecemeal slay, With power by power in slow decay; But strike, and all in ashes lay! Farewell, my good old tree! THROUGH THE CLOUDS. Through the clouds that veil the sky, Come, O sun, and sweetly smile! Show thy glory to mine eye, So my heart may beam the while. Come, and chase this day of night, For the world is sadly dim. To thy blessed face of light Let my spirit sing her hymn. Now, in silence and alone, I, to pass the heavy hour, Sit and fancy nature's moan After thy reviving power. Blasts of wildered, wandering air, Asking where thy face can be, Chill and cheerless, every where, Sighing, wailing, seek for thee. Mourning o'er the earth is spread; Bud and flower look pale with grief. Sick, the plant has hung its head; Dulness weighs on every leaf. Not a bird is heard to sing. Reft of thine inspiring ray. As a lyre of every string, Each from sight is hid away. Sable clouds, that veil the blue Of the skies, their shadows throw Here, until their sombre hue Gives a cast to all below. Come, O sun, and through the gloom Let thy beaming vesture fall! Bringing music, joy and bloom, Spread thy mantle o'er us all. What were there on earth to love-- What were beauteous, bright, or dear, Wert thou not so true above, And thy holy influence here? MY ROSE TREE. Rose tree, O! my beauteous rose tree, Often have I longed to know How thy tender leaves were moulded-- How thy buds are burst, and blow. I have watered, sunned, and trained thee, And have watched thee many an hour, Yet I never could discover How a bud becomes a flower.