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THERE is a yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale, | |
Which to this day stands single in the midst | |
Of its own darkness, as it stood of yore: | |
Not loath to furnish weapons for the bands | |
Of Umfraville or Percy ere they marched | 5 |
To Scotlands heaths; or those that crossed the sea, | |
And drew their sounding bows at Azincour; | |
Perhaps at earlier Crecy, or Poictiers. | |
Of vast circumference and gloom profound | |
This solitary Tree! a living thing | 10 |
Produced too slowly ever to decay; | |
Of form and aspect too magnificent | |
To be destroyed. But worthier still of note | |
Are those fraternal Four of Borrowdale, | |
Joined in one solemn and capacious grove; | 15 |
Huge trunks! and each particular trunk a growth | |
Of intertwisted fibres serpentine | |
Up-coiling, and inveterately convolved; | |
Nor uninformed with fantasy, and looks | |
That threaten the profane; a pillared shade, | 20 |
Upon whose grassless floor of red-brown hue, | |
By sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged | |
Perennially; beneath whose sable roof | |
Of boughs, as if for festal purpose, decked | |
With unrejoicing berries, ghostly shapes | 25 |
May meet at noontide; Fear, and trembling Hope, | |
Silence, and Foresight; Death the Skeleton, | |
And Time the Shadow; there to celebrate, | |
As in a natural temple scattered oer | |
With altars undisturbed of mossy stone, | 30 |
United worship; or in mute repose | |
To lie, and listen to the mountain flood | |
Murmuring from Glaramaras inmost caves. | |
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