Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Yes! I have seen the ancient oak
Last Line: Woe for the fall of the glorious tree!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Trees


YES! I have seen the ancient oak
On the dark deep water cast,
And it was not felled by the woodman's stroke,
Or the rush of the sweeping blast;
For the axe might never touch that tree,
And the air was still as a summer sea.

I saw it fall, as falls a chief
By an arrow in the fight,
And the old woods shook to their loftiest leaf,
At the crashing of its might;
And the startled deer to their coverts drew,
And the spray of the lake as a fountain's flew!

'Tis fallen! But think thou not I weep
For the forest's pride o'er-thrown --
An old man's tears lie far too deep To be poured for this alone;
But by that sign too well I know,
That a youthful head, must soon be low!

A youthful head, with its shining hair,
And its bright quick-flashing eye --
Well may I weep! for the boy is fair,
Too fair a thing to die!
But on his brow the mark is set --
Oh! could my life redeem him yet!

He bounded by me as I gazed
Alone on the fatal sign,
And it seemed like sunshine when he raised
His joyous glance to mine.
With a stag's fleet step he bounded by,
So full of life -- but he must die!

He must, he must! in that deep dell
By that dark water's side,
'Tis known that ne'er a proud tree fell
But an heir of his fathers' died.
And he -- there's laughter in his eye,
Joy in his voice -- yet he must die!

I've borne him in these arms, that now
Are nerveless and unstrung;
And must I see, on that fair brow,
The dust untimely flung?
I must! -- yon green oak, branch and crest,
Lies floating on the dark lake's breast

The noble boy! -- how proudly sprung
The falcon from his hand!
It seemed like youth to see him young,
A flower in his father's land!
But the hour of the knell and the dirge is nigh,
For the tree had fallen, and the flower must die.

Say not 'tis vain! I tell thee, some
Are warned by a meteor's light,
Or a pale bird, flitting, calls them home,
Or a voice on the winds by night;
And they must go! And he too, he! --
Woe for the fall of the glorious Tree!





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