Classic Poem

OR, THE CEDAR AND THE MYRTLE .

A Myrtle near a Cedar grew,
Or Truth perhaps would say, had grown;
His wither'd bough no blossoms threw,
His wreath no love or Muse would own.
It's true the Cedar was not young,
But still a giant still in health,
His bold and spreading arms were flung,
The more diffus'd, the more his wealth.
“My little neighbour!” said the Cedar,
“It's pity that you cannot rise;
With my example for your leader,
The Forest claims you for its prize.”
“My Lord, you jest,” the Myrtle said;
“An Oyster cannot be a Turtle;
But you, for all your towering head,
Would be unrival'd as a Myrtle.”