Ye brave old fig-trees! worthy pair!
Beneath whose shade I often lay
To breathe awhile a cooler air,
And shield me from the dusts of day.
Strangers have visited the spot,
Led thither by my parting song;
Alas! the si ranger found you not,
And curst the poet's lying tongue.
Vanished each venerable head,
Nor bough nor leaf could tell them where
To look lor vou, alive or dead;
Unheeded was my distant prayer.
I might have hoped (if hope had ever
Been mine) that time or storm alone
Your firm alliance would dissever,—
Hath mortal hand your strength oYrthrown?
Before an axe had bitten through
The bleeding bark, some tender thought,
If not for me, at least for you,
On younger bosoms might have wrought.
Age after age your honeyed fruit
From boys unseen through foliage fell
On lifted apron; now is mute
The girlish glee! Old friends, farewell!