quote · Legacy record

O leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark unwarming shade below; Nor summer bud perfume the dew, Of rosy blush, or yellow hue! Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, My green and glossy leaves adorn; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; Yet leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made; And on my trunk's surviving frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground; By all that Love has whisper'd here, Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; As Love's own altar honor me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! (This piece was written for Miss Mary Campbell, the poet's sister; it appeared first in the Morning Chronicle. The tree, the subject of the lines still ornaments the grounds at Ardwell, in Scotland, the seat of James Murray McCulloch, Esq.)

O leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark unwarming shade below; Nor summer bud perfume the dew, Of rosy blush, or yellow hue! Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, My green and glossy leaves adorn; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; Yet leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made; And on my trunk's surviving frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground; By all that Love has whisper'd here, Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; As Love's own altar honor me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! (This piece was written for Miss Mary Campbell, the poet's sister; it appeared first in the Morning Chronicle. The tree, the subject of the lines still ornaments the grounds at Ardwell, in Scotland, the seat of James Murray McCulloch, Esq.)

Approximate author period: c. 1810 AD · industrial