To an Old Maple Tree - An 1851 Poem

By Mrs. J.H. Dimock, of Montrose.

I have loved thee from my childhood,

Thou old and moss grown tree!

And a thousand gentle memories

Are linked with thoughts of thee.

Sweet visions of that olden time,

When, with joyous heart I strayed

To seek the earliest white flowers,

By the streamlet 'neath thy shade.

 

There, when at spring's soft breathings,

The snow-wreath fled away,

Each green and mossy knowl was gemmed

With partridge-berries gay,

The May-flower and the violet

Peeped from their bed of mould,

And the dark wake-robbbin nodded

By the adder's-tongue of gold.

 

The feathery fern waved to the breeze,

With a wild wood fragrance fraught,

While the brown thrush, for her callow brood,

Its sheltering covert sought,

And among thy spreading branches,

In their soft, pale green array,

The song sparrow trilled his earliest notes,

And the blue bird poured his lay.

 

I've loved thee! when the glad spring brought

Her gifts of bloom and mirth,

Nor less when summer's loveliness

Came flashing o'er the earth.

For thou hast worn quite regally,

They coronal of green,

And stood a monarch of the wood,

In the sunlight's glorious sheen.

 

And when the change came o'er thee,

In the pensive autumn day's --

When vale and upland, grove and stream,

Were veiled in sober haze,

Thou dids't thy gorgeous robes put on

Of crimson and of gold,

And proudly yield the honors up

Thou might'st not longer hold.

 

Majestic still, though shorn, thou'st stood

With thy light tracery

Revealed, in fairy pencillings 'gainst

The clear and star lit sky.

Then the wintry sun came brightly down,

And lingering o'er thy crest,

Each tiny twig, with frost o'er wrought,

In glittering gems seemed dressed.

 

And oft, when through the starry boughs,

The storm-king wild has raved,

I've joyed to see how nobly thou

His violence has braved.

But a spoiler has been busy 'mongst

They brethren of the shade.

And I sigh to mark the ravages

The woodman's axe has made.

 

Thou stand'st almost alone, old tree!

The stream has shrunk and dried,

And the flowers, beneath the sun's fierce glare,

From their old haunts have died.

Thou too, ere long, old cherished friend,

Must bow they stately head!

So pass from earth its loveliest

And noblest, to the dead.

October 15, 1851. Lewisburg Chronicle 8(29): 1.