| |
| FAIR tree, for thy delightful shade | |
| ’Tis just that some return be made; | |
| Sure, some return is due from me | |
| To thy cool shadows and to thee. | |
| When thou to birds dost shelter give | 5 |
| Thou music dost from them receive; | |
| If travellers beneath thee stay | |
| Till storms have worn themselves away, | |
| That time in praising thee they spend, | |
| And thy protecting power commend; | 10 |
| The shepherd here, from scorching freed, | |
| Tunes to thy dancing leaves his reed, | |
| Whilst his loved nymph, in thanks, bestows | |
| Her flowery chaplets on thy boughs. | |
| Shall I then only silent be, | 15 |
| And no return be made by me? | |
| No! let this wish upon thee wait, | |
| And still to flourish be thy fate; | |
| To future ages mayst thou stand | |
| Untouched by the rash workman’s hand, | 20 |
| Till that large stock of sap is spent | |
| Which gives thy summer’s ornament; | |
| Till the fierce winds, that vainly strive | |
| To shock thy greatness whilst alive, | |
| Shall on thy lifeless hour attend, | 25 |
| Prevent the axe, and grace thy end, | |
| Their scattered strength together call | |
| And to the clouds proclaim thy fall; | |
| Who then their evening dews may spare, | |
| When thou no longer art their care, | 30 |
| But shalt, like ancient heroes, burn, | |
| And some bright hearth be made thy urn. | |
| |
