Classic Poem

I BEHELD an oak, a goodly oak,
In his prime he seemed to flourish:
For the sun o'er his boughs in beauty broke,
And the rain came down to nourish:
He shook from his locks the acorn cup,
To the grassy earth around him,
And soon a kindred plant sprung up,
From the fertile soil that bound him.

Then the goodly oak looked calmly down
On the infant stem beside him,
And spread his broad, umbrageous crown,
To shelter, shade, and guide him;
Some summer seasons came and passed,
Some wintry times of danger,
While the thunder stroke, and the boreal blast,
Swept harmless o'er the stranger.

But the tempest came in its ruthless ire, —
Alas, for the fondly cherished!
For the storm-bolt fell with its fatal fire,
And the shattered sapling perished;
Then the parent-tree, a lonely one,
Drooped fast in every weather,
And both, ere many moons were gone,
Lay stretched on the plain together.