Classic Poem

FIXED ON A VERY ANCIENT YEW TREE, OF EXTRA-ORDINARY SIZE, WHICH STANDS UPON A HILL, NEAR THE MANSION HOUSE, IN THE PARK AT HIMLEY HALL, STAFFORDSHIRE, THE SEAT OF LORD VISCOUNT DUDLEY AND WARD; WRITTEN IN 1791, WHILE ON A VISIT THERE .

This stately yew, which has for ages stood,
The gloomy monarch of its native wood!
Perhaps some Norman Baron planted here,
Who liv'd by rapine, and who ruled by fear;
The tree a symbol of its master's mind,
Emblem of death, and fatal to mankind!
Beneath its boughs no verdant plants are seen,
Its baneful branches poison ev'ry green;
And thus the feudal tyrant's hated reign
Oppress'd the village, and laid waste the plain.
To these dire scenes an happier age succeeds,
No despot threatens, and no vassal bleeds!
At Himley now the poor man finds relief,
Forgets his poverty, and checks his grief;
Raises his languid eyes, and drooping head,
To bless the liberal hand that gives him bread;
While, in the mansion, mirth and song attend,
To cheer the stranger, and delight the friend;
And smiling hospitality awaits
To open wide the ever-friendly gates.
But still the yew, though hast'ning to decay,
Retains the venom of its pristine day;
Its branches still their gloomy nature shew,
And frown upon the cheerful scene below.