The Washington Elm

Words! Words, Old Tree! Thou hast an aspect fair,A vigorous heart, a heaven-aspiring crest,And sleepless memories of the days that wereLodge in thy branches, like the song-bird's nest.

Words! give us words! Methought a gathering blastMid its green leaves began to murmur low,Shaping its utterance to the mighty Past,That backward came, on pinions floating slow.

"The ancient masters of the soil I knew,Whose cane-roofed wigwams flecked the forest brown,Their hunter-footsteps swept the early dew,And their keen arrow struck the eagle down.

I heard the bleak December tempest moan,When the tossed May-Flower moored in Plymouth Bay;And watched yon classic walls, as stone by stoneThe fathers reared them slowly towards the day.

But lo! a mighty Chieftain 'neath my shade,Drew his bright sword, and reared his dauntless head,And Liberty sprang forth from rock and glade,And donned her helmet for the hour of dread:

While in the hero's heart there dwelt a prayer,That Heaven's protecting arm might never cease,To make his young, endangered land its care,Till through the war-cloud looked the angel Peace.

Be wise, my children," said that ancient Tree,In earnest tone, as though a Mentor spake,"And prize the blood-bought birthright of the free,And firmly guard it, for your country's sake."

Thanks, thanks, Old Elm! and for this counsel sage,May heaven thy brow with added beauty grace,Grant richer emeralds to thy crown of age,And changeless honors from a future race.