Our Casuarina Tree

Our Casuarina Tree.

Like a huge Python, winding round and roundThe rugged trunk, indented deep with scars,Up to its very summit near the stars,A creeper climbs, in whose embraces boundNo other tree could live. But gallantlyThe giant wears the scarf, and flowers are hungIn crimson clusters all the boughs among,Whereon all day are gathered bird and bee;And oft at nights the garden overflowsWith one sweet song that seems to have no close,Sung darkling from our tree, while men repose.

When first my casement is wide open thrownAt dawn, my eyes delighted on it rest;Sometimes, and most in winter,—on its crestA grey baboon sits statue-like aloneWatching the sunrise; while on lower boughsHis puny offspring leap about and play;And far and near kokilas hail the day;And to their pastures wend our sleepy cows;And in the shadow, on the broad tank castBy that hoar tree, so beautiful and vast,The water-lilies spring, like snow enmassed.

But not because of its magnificenceDear is the Casuarina to my soul:Beneath it we have played; though years may roll,O sweet companions, loved with love intense.For your sakes, shall the tree be ever dear!Blent with your images, it shall ariseIn memory, till the hot tears blind mine eyes!What is that dirge-like murmur that I hearLike the sea breaking on a shingle-beach?It is the tree's lament, an eerie speechThat haply to the unknown land may reach.

Unknown, yet well-known to the eye of faith!Ah, I have heard that wail far, far awayIn distant lands, by many a sheltered bay,When slumbered in his cave the water-wraithAnd the waves gently kissed the classic shoreOf France or Italy, beneath the moon,When earth lay trancèd in a dreamless swoon:And every time the music rose,—beforeMine inner vision rose a form sublime,Thy form, O Tree, as in my happy primeI saw thee, in my own loved native clime.

Therefore I fain would consecrate a layUnto thy honour, Tree, beloved of thoseWho now in blessed sleep, for aye, repose,Dearer than life to me, alas! were they!Mayst thou be numbered when my days are doneWith deathless trees—like those in Borrowdale,Under whose awful branches lingered pale"Fear, trembling Hope, and Death, the skeleton,And Time the shadow;" and though weak the verseThat would thy beauty fain, oh fain rehearse.May Love defend thee from Oblivion's curse.