THE TALKING OAK.

ONCE more the gate behind me falls; Once more before my face

I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls,

That stand within the chace.

Beyond the lodge the city lies,
Beneath its drift of smoke;
And ah! with what delighted eyes
I turn to yonder oak.

For when my passion first began,

Ere that, which in me burn'd, The love, that makes me thrice a man, Could hope itself return'd;

To yonder oak within the field

I spoke without restraint, And with a larger faith appeal'd Than Papist unto Saint.

For oft I talk'd with him apart,
And told him of my choice,
Until he plagiarised a heart,

And answer'd with a voice.

Tho' what he whisper'd, under Heaven
None else could understand;

I found him garrulously given,
A babbler in the land.

But since I heard him make reply
Is many a weary hour;

"Twere well to question him, and try
If yet he keeps the power.

Hail, hidden to the knees in fern,
Broad Oak of Sumner-chace,

Whose topmost branches can discern

The roofs of Sumner-place!

Say thou, whereon I carved her name, If ever maid or spouse,

As fair as my Olivia, came

To rest beneath thy boughs.

"O Walter, I have shelter'd here
Whatever maiden grace

The good old Summers, year by year
Made ripe in Sumner-chace :

"Old Summers, when the monk was fat,
And, issuing shorn and sleek,
Would twist his girdle tight, and pat
The girls upon the cheek,

"Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence,
And number'd bead, and shrift,
Bluff Harry broke into the spence
And turn'd the cowls adrift :

"And I have seen some score of those
Fresh faces, that would thrive
When his man-minded offset rose

To chase the deer at five;

"And all that from the town would stroll, Till that wild wind made work

In which the gloomy brewer's soul
Went by me, like a stork :

"The slight she-slips of loyal blood,
And others, passing praise,
Strait-laced, but all-too-full in bud

For puritanic stays:

"And I have shadow'd many a group

Of beauties, that were born

In teacup-times of hood and hoop,
Or while the patch was worn;

"And, leg and arm with love-knots gay,
About me leap'd and laugh'd
The modish Cupid of the day,
And shrill'd his tinsel shaft.

"I swear (and else may insects prick
Each leaf into a gall)

This girl, for whom your heart is sick,
Is three times worth them all;

"For those and theirs, by Nature's law,

Have faded long ago;

But in these latter springs I saw

Your own Olivia blow,

"From when she gamboll'd on the greens

A baby-germ, to when

The maiden blossoms of her teens
Could number five from ten.

I swear, by leaf, and wind, and rain,

(And hear me with thine ears,) That, tho' I circle in the grain

Five hundred rings of years