Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while; Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run, The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile, When Infancy's years of probation are done. 6. Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds, That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay, For still in thy bosom are Life's early seeds, And still may thy branches their beauty display. 7. Oh! yet, if Maturity's years may be thine, Though _I_ shall lie low in the cavern of Death, On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine, [i] Uninjured by Time, or the rude Winter's breath. 8. For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave O'er the corse of thy Lord in thy canopy laid; While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave, The Chief who survives may recline in thy shade. 9. And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot, He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread. Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot; Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead. 10. And here, will they say, when in Life's glowing prime, Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay, And here must he sleep, till the moments of Time Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day. 1807. [First published 1832.] ["Copied for Mr. Moore, Jan. 24, 1828."--Note by Miss Pigot.] [Footnote 1: There is no heading to the original MS., but on the blank leaf at the end of the poem is written, "To an oak in the garden of Newstead Abbey, planted by the author in the 9th year of [his] age; this tree at his last visit was in a state of decay, though perhaps not irrecoverable." On arriving at Newstead, in 1798, Byron, then in his eleventh year, planted an oak, and cherished the fancy, that as the tree flourished so should he. On revisiting the abbey, he found the oak choked up by weeds and almost destroyed;--hence these lines. Shortly after Colonel Wildman took possession, he said to a servant, "Here is a fine young oak; but it must be cut down, as it grows in an improper place." "I hope not, sir, "replied the man, "for it's the one that my lord was so fond of, because he set it himself." _Life_, p. 50, note.] [Footnote i: _For ages may shine_. [_MS. Newstead_]] ON REVISITING HARROW. [1] 1. Here once engaged the stranger's view Young Friendship's record simply trac'd; Few were her words,--but yet, though few, Resentment's hand the line defac'd. 2. Deeply she cut--but not eras'd-- The characters were still so plain, That Friendship once return'd, and gaz'd,-- Till Memory hail'd the words again. 3. Repentance plac'd them as before; Forgiveness join'd her gentle name; So fair the inscription seem'd once more, That Friendship thought it still the same. 4.