Part 58

He died in battle; and his lands By craft and deeds unfair, His brother claimed and won, although His infant son was heir.

This hard, bad man was miserly, And loved no thing save gold; He soon marked out the stately tree, To be cut down and sold.

What was its beauty unto him?-- The grand and noble thing! His dull eyes only measured well What moneys it would bring.

But while he doomed the lordly oak, His wicked life ebbed low, And suddenly, death summoned him From his ill-got hoards to go.

The grand estate--the ancient hall, The woods, and wealth untold, Came then unto that warrior’s child, A boy of ten years old.

He was a thoughtful, quiet boy, For though yet young in years, His mother’s sorrows and his own Had made him old in tears.

And with a calm and gentle joy Came home that youthful heir, For his chief source of gladness was, To bring his mother there:--

To watch her sadly smile to see Again each well-known spot, Where days of happiness had passed, That ne’er could be forgot:--

To have her former state restored, Maidens, and serving-men; And garments, richer than of old, He bade them bring her then.

The gardens, that the miser had Left all untrimmed and bare, Were planted, pruned, and decked anew, And stored with all things rare.

But chiefly did the lady love One glade within the wood, The shady glade, where broad and high, The noble Oak tree stood.

Sad memories, yet sweet ones too, For her that lone spot bore: ’Twas there she parted from her lord To meet on earth no more!

’Twas there, beneath that tree, he spoke His last, last fond farewell! From thence she watched him ride away The eve before he fell:-- No marvel that sad lady loved The silent spot so well!

And there they oft together came, The lady and the boy, For he to her was all on earth, Her one sole living joy.

And long years after, when she slept Her warrior’s tomb beside, When the boy had grown an aged man, With grandsons by his side:--

That ancient wood he reverenced; And peasants, when they spoke Of the old tree within the glade, Called it--the Lady’s Oak.

I know the spot--though strangely time Hath altered all around, Where once the forest’s stillness lay, Now whirling wheels resound.

A large and busy peopled town E’en on that spot we see, Where dappled deer and timid birds Dwelt fearlessly and free.

But I remember when a child, One old and mouldering shell Of a most ancient, huge Oak tree Stood near the public well.

I’ve sat within it many a time, In childish sport and play, And much I mourned to see at last The trunk quite cleared away.

Soon they built there a fine new street, And noisy coaches sweep With roar and riot,--even where That lady came to weep!

Each passing year we note a change In ancient things and new; And if we see so much in one, What may not hundreds do?

Louisa A. Twamley.

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There’s no power In ancestry, to make the foolish wise, The ignorant learned, the cowardly and base Deserving our respect as brave and good. All men feel this: nor dares the despot say His fiat can endow with truth the soul, Or, like a pension, on the heart bestow The virtues current in the realms above. Hence man’s best riches must be gained--not given; His noblest name deserved, and not derived.

Mrs. Hale.

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Some men are born to endure the toil and strife And heavy burdens of the earth. They are The pillars in the temple of this life, Its strength and ornament; or, hidden far Beneath, they form its firm foundation-stone. In nobleness they stand distinct and lone, Yet other men upon them lean, and fain (Such selfishness in human bosoms swells) Would lay on them the weight of their own pain. Where greatness is, a patient spirit dwells; They least repine who bear and suffer most: In still and stern endurance they sustain The ills whereof all weaker minds complain; And in their blessed lot they stand, without a sigh or boast.