ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA (1661-1720)

THE TREE

1880

Fair tree, for thy delightful shade 'Tis just that some return be made; Sure some return is due from me To thy cool shadows and to thee. 5 When thou to birds dost shelter give Thou music dost from them receive; If travellers beneath thee stay. Till storms have worn themselves away, That time in praising thee they spend, 10 And thy protecting pow'r commend; The shepherd here, from scorching freed, Tunes to thy dancing leaves his reed, Whilst his lov'd nymph in thanks bestows

Her flow'ry chaplets on thy boughs. 15 Shall I then only silent be,

And no return be made by me?
No! let this wish upon thee wait,
And still to flourish be thy fate;
To future ages mayst thou stand

20 Untouch'd by the rash workman's hand,
Till that large stock of sap is spent
Which gives thy summer's ornament;
Till the fierce winds, that vainly strive
To shock thy greatness whilst alive,
25 Shall on thy lifeless hour attend,

Prevent1 the axe, and grace thy end, Their scatter'd strength together call And to the clouds proclaim thy fall; Who then their ev'ning dews may spare, 30 When thou no longer art their care, But shalt, like ancient heroes, burn, And some bright hearth be made thy urn.

From THE PETITION FOR AN ABSOLUTE RETREAT

1713

Give me, O indulgent Fate!
Give me yet, before I die,

A sweet, but absolute retreat,

'Mongst paths so lost, and trees so high,

1 come before; anticipate

5 That the world may ne'er invade, Through such windings and such shade, My unshaken liberty.

No intruders thither come,
Who visit, but to be from home;
10 None who their vain moments pass,
Only studious of their glass.

News, that charm to list'ning ears,
That false alarm to hopes and fears,
That common theme for every fop,
15 From the statesman to the shop,
In those coverts ne'er be spread.
Of who's deceas'd, or who's to wed,
Be no tidings thither brought,
20 Where the world may ne'er invade,
But silent, as a midnight thought,
Be those windings, and that shade!

Courteous Fate! afford me there
A table spread without my care
With what the neighb'ring fields impart,
25 Whose cleanliness be all its art.
When of old the calf was drest
Tho' to make an angel's feast-
In the plain, unstudied sauce
Nor truffle,1 nor morillia1 was;

30 Nor could the mighty patriarch's board
One far-fetch'd ortolane2 afford.
Courteous Fate, then give me there
Only plain and wholesome fare.
Fruits indeed, would Heaven bestow,
35 All, that did in Eden grow,—

All, but the forbidden tree,
Would be coveted by me:

Grapes, with juice so crowded up
As breaking thro' the native cup;
40 Figs, yet growing, candied o'er
By the sun's attracting power;
Cherries, with the downy peach,
All within my easy reach;
Whilst, creeping near the humble ground,
45 Should the strawberry be found,
Springing wheresoe'er I strayed,
Thro' those windings and that shade.