What more he said, I cannot tell. The stream came thundering down the dell I listen'd, nor aught else could hear, The OAK and the BROOM, A PASTORAL. His simple truths did Andrew glean Beside the babbling rills; A careful student he had been Among the woods and hills. One winter's night when through the Trees His youngest born did Andrew hold: Were seated round their blazing fire, I saw a crag, a lofty stone Out of its head an Oak had grown, A Broom out of its feet. The time was March, a chearful noon The thaw-wind with the breath of June Breath'd gently from the warm South-west; When in a voice sedate with age This Oak, half giant and half.. sage, His neighbour thus address'd. "Eight weary weeks, thro' rock and clay, Along this mountain's edge The Frost hath wrought both night and day, Wedge driving after wedge. Look up, and think, above your bead What trouble surely will be bred; And yet, just three years back—no more— You had a strange escape. Down from yon Cliff a fragment broke, This pond'rous block was caught by me, 'Tis hanging to this day. The Thing had better been asleep, Whatever thing it were, Or Breeze, or Bird, or fleece of Sheep, That first did plant you there. For you and your green twigs decoy To come and slumber in your bower; And trust me, on some sultry noon, Both you and he, Heaven knows how soon! Will perish in one hour. From me this friendly warning take" The Broom began to doze, And thus to keep herself awake Did gently interpose. "My thanks for your discourse are due; That it is true, and more than true, Disasters, do the best we can, Who is not wise at all. For me, why should I wish to roam ? This spot is my paternal home, It is my pleasant Heritage; My Father many a happy year Here spread his careless blossoms, here Attain'd a good old age. |