The Elm-trees

I do remember meOf two old elm-trees' shade,With mosses sprinkled at their feet,Where my young childhood play'd;While the rocks above their headFrown'd out so stern and gray,And the little crystal streamlet nearWent leaping on its way.

There, side by side, they flourish'd,With intertwining crown,And through their broad embracing armsThe prying moon look'd down;And I deem'd, as there I linger'd—A musing child, alone—She sought my secret heart to scanFrom her far silver throne.

I do remember meOf all their wealth of leaves,When summer, in her radiant loom,The burning solstice weaves;And how, with firm endurance,They braved an adverse sky,Like Belisarius, doom'd to meetHis country's wintry eye.

I've roam'd through varied regions,Where stranger-streamlets run,And where the proud magnolia flauntsBeneath a southern sun,And where the sparse and stinted pinePuts forth its sombre form,A vassal to the arctic cloud,And to the tyrant storm,

And where the pure unruffled lakesIn placid wavelets roll,Or where sublime Niagara shakesThe wonder-stricken soul,I've seen the temple's sculptured pile,The pencil's glorious art,Yet still those old green trees I woreDepictured on my heart.

Years fled; my native vale I sought,Where those tall elm-trees wave;But many a column of its trustLay broken in the grave.The ancient and the white-hair'd men,Whose wisdom was its stay,For them I ask'd, and Echo's voiceMade answer, "Where are they?"

I sought the thrifty matron,Whose busy wheel was heardWhen the early beams of morningAwoke the chirping bird;

Strange faces from her window look'd,Strange voices fill'd her cot,And, 'neath the very vine she train'd,Her memory was forgot.

I left a youthful mother,Her children round her knee,Those babes had risen into men,And coldly look'd on me;But she, with all her bloom and grace,Did in the churchyard lie,While still those changeless elms upboreTheir kingly canopy.

Though we, who 'neath their lofty screenPursued our childish play,May show amid our sunny locksSome lurking tints of gray,And though the village of our loveDoth many a change betide,Still do those sacred elm-trees stand,In all their strength and pride.