Another Inscription to the Same Tree

I LOVE the Poplar's trembling leaf:
'Tis Man! between his joy and grief,
His fluttering hope and fear;
The lightest breath its wings can move,
It whispers like the note of Love,
And claims the passing tear.

Its numbers can the leaf insure,
Against the wind and rain secure,
It glitters to the Sun: —
Ev'n thus Humility is blest,
And children guard the halcyon-rest,
By rustic labour won.

With rapid growth of screen and shade,
Its careful planter is repaid,
Nor covets Elm nor Oak:
'Tis thus embattled hosts can rise
For him that help to want supplies,
And soothes Oppression's yoke.

The Nightingale , as Virgil sung,
To Poplar -boughs devoted hung,
Of all her youth bereft:
A Nightingale the Poplars now
Can boast upon their classic bough,
Which He must there have left .
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