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THE TALKING OAK.

I.

ONCE more the gate behind me falls;

Once more before my face

I see the moulder'd Abbey-walls,

That stand within the chace.

II.

Beyond the lodge the city lies,

Beneath its drift of smoke;

And ah! with what delighted eyes

I turn to yonder oak.

III.

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;

IV.

To yonder oak within the field

I spoke without restraint,

And with a larger faith appeal'd

Than Papist unto Saint.

V.

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.

VI.

Tho' what he whisper'd under Heaven

None else could understand;

I found him garrulously given,

A babbler in the land.

VII.

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.

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VIII.

Hail, hidden to the knees in fern,

Broad Oak of Sumner-chace,

Whose topmost branches can discern The roofs of Sumner-place!

IX.

Say thou, whereon I carved her name,

If ever maid or spouse,

As fair as my Olivia, came

To rest beneath thy boughs.

X.

"O Walter, I have shelter'd here

Whatever maiden grace

The good old Summers, year by year,

Made ripe in Sumner-chace :

XI.

"Old Summers, when the monk was fat,

And, issuing shorn and sleek,

Would twist his girdle tight, and pat

The girls upon the cheek,

XII.

"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:

XIII.

"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;

XIV.

"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 :

XV.

"The slight she-slips of loyal blood,

And others, passing praise,

Strait-laced, but all-too-full in bud

For puritanic stays:

XVI.

“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;

66

XVII.

And, leg and arm with love-knots

About me leap'd and laugh'd

The modish Cupid of the day,

And shrill'd his tinsel shaft.

XVIII.

gay,

"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;

XIX.

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

Have faded long ago;

But in these latter springs I saw

Your own Olivia blow,

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