Classic Poem

Gigantic time-worn Tree, what moons have fled
Since thou wert planted first by warlike hand!
Nigh twice four hundred years have swept the land;
And yet, defying time, thou lift'st thy head
Still green, nor fear'st the storms that round have spread
Thy weak compeers. They scatter'd lie, and rent,
Ev'n as that Chieftain old, whose monument
Thou art. In him pleas'd Fancy fain would trace
A knight of high emprise and good intent;
Within whose breast wrong'd orphans' woes found place,
Ever in rightful cause the Champion free,
Of his proud times the ornament and grace;
A wight well worthy to recorded be,
In fairest archives of bright chivalry.