The OAK of our FATHERS. Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood It grew and it flourish'd for many an age, But when its strong branches were bent with the blast, Its head tower'd high, and its branches spread round, The Oak of our Fathers to Freedom was dear, In its beauty, the glory and pride of the wood! There crept up an ivy and clung round the trunk, The foresters saw and they gather'd around, Its roots still were fast, and its heart still was sound; No longer the bees o'er its honey-dews play'd, The Oak has received its incurable wound, They have loosened the roots, tho' the heart may be sound; Alas for the Oak of our Fathers that stood In its beauty, the glory and pride of the wood! The OLD MAN'S COMFORTS. And how he gained them. 1 You are old, Father William, the young man cried, In the days of my youth, Father William replied, You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And yet you lament not the days that are gone, In the days of my youth, Father William replied, You are old, Father William, the young man cried, And life must be hastening away; You are chearful, and love to converse upon death! Now tell me the reason I pray. I am chearful, young man, Father William replied, In the days of my youth I remember'd my God! The EBB TIDE. Slowly thy flowing tide Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes, As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side, Behold the gentle rise. With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long Between thy winding shores. Now down thine ebbing tide The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along; The solitary helms-man sits to guide And sings an idle song. Now o'er the rocks, that lay So silent late, the shallow current roars; |