LINES

Written at the close of Dr. Holmes’s lectures on English poetry.

[Footnote:  The Poets are metaphorically introduced as follows.  Rogers, The Beech; Campbell, The Fir; Byron, The Oak; Moore, The Elm; Scott, The Chestnut; Southey, The Holly; Coleridge, The Magnolia; Keats, The Orange; Wordsworth, The Pine; Tennyson, The Palm; FELICIA HEMANS, The Locust; ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, The Laurel.]

  Farewell! farewell!  The hours we’ve stolen
    From scenes of worldly strife and stir,
  To live with poets, and with thee,
    Their brother and interpreter,

  Have brought us wealth;—­as thou hast reaped,
    We have not followed thee in vain,
  But gathered, in one precious sheaf,
    The pearly flower and golden grain.

  For twelve bright hours, with thee we walked
    Within a magic garden’s bound,
  Where trees, whose birth owned various climes,
    Beneath one sky were strangely found.

  First in the group, an ancient BEECH
    His shapely arms abroad did fling,
  Wearing old Autumn’s russet crown
    Among the lively tints of Spring.

  Those pale brown leaves the winds of March
    Made vocal ’mid the silent trees,
  And spread their faint perfume abroad,
    Like sad, yet pleasant memories.

  Near it, the vigorous, noble FIR
    Arose, with firm yet graceful mien;
  Welcome for shelter or for shade,
    A pyramid of living green.

  And from the tender, vernal spray
    The sunny air such fragrance drew,
  As breathes from fields of strawberries wild,
    All bathed in morning’s freshest dew.

  The OAK his branches richly green
    Broad to the winds did wildly fling;—­
  The first in beauty and in power,
    All bowed before the forest-king.

  But ere its brilliant leaves were sere,
    Or scattered by the Autumn wind,
  Fierce lightnings struck its glories down,
    And left a blasted trunk behind.

  A youthful ELM its drooping boughs
    In graceful beauty bent to earth,
  As if to touch, with reverent love,
    The kindly soil that gave it birth;—­

  And round it, in such close embrace,
    Sweet honeysuckles did entwine,
  We knew not if the south wind caught
    Its odorous breath from tree or vine.

  The CHESTNUT tall, with shining leaves
    And yellow tassels covered o’er,
  The sunny Summer’s golden pride,
    And pledge of Autumn’s ruddy store,—­

  Though grander forms might near it rise,
    And sweeter blossoms scent the air,—­
  Was still a favorite ’mongst the trees
    That flourished in that garden fair.