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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.

VOL. II.

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.

F

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.

VOL. II.

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.

F

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 ;

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XVII.

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.

XVIII.

"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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