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Bursting to life, another race

At touch of Spring in thy embrace,

Sported and flutter'd;

Aloft, where wanton breezes play'd,

In thy knit boughs have ringdoves made

Their nest, and lovers in thy shade

Their vows have utter'd.

How oft thy lofty summits won

Morn's virgin smile, and hail'd the sun

With rustling motion;

How oft in silent depths of night,

When the moon sail'd in cloudless light,

Thou hast stood awe-struck at the sight.

In hush'd devotion

"Twere vain to ask; for doom'd to fall,

The day appointed for us all

O’er thee impended;

The hatchet, with remorseless blow,

First laid thee in the forest low,

Then cut thee into logs--and so

Thy course was ended.

But not thine use- for moral rules,

Worth all the wisdom of the schools,

Thou may'st bequeath me;

Bidding me cherish those who live

Above me, and the more I thrive,

A wider shade and shelter give

To those beneath me.

So when death lays his axe on me,

I may resign, as calm as thee,

My hold terrestrial;

Like thine my latter end be found,

Diffusing light and warmth around,

And like thy smoke my spirit bound

To realms celestial.


Whose are Windsor and Hampton, the pride of the land, With their treasures and trophies so varied and grand?

The Queen's, you reply :

Deuce a bit! you and I

Through their gates, twice a week, making privileged way,

Tread their gilded saloons,
View their portraits, cartoons,

And, like Crusoe, are monarchs of all we survey.

And whose are our Nobles' magnificent homes,

With their galleries, gardens, their statues and domes.

His Grace's? my Lord's?

Ay, in law and in words,

But in fact they are ours, for the master, poor wight!

Gladly leaving their view

To the visiting crew,

Keeps a dear exhibition for others' delight..

And whose are the stag-haunted parks, the domains, The woods and the waters, the hills and the plains ?

Yours and mine, for our eyes

Daily make them our prize:

What more have their owners ? — The care and the cost!

Alas! for the great,

Whose treasures and state,

Unprized when possess’d, are regretted when lost.

When I float on the Thames, or am whisk'd o'er the roads,

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To the numerous royal and noble abodes

Whose delights I may share,

Without ownership's care,

With what pity the titled and rich I regard,

And exultingly cry,

Oh! how happy am I To be only a poor unpatrician bard!

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