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Original - Duke Divinity School

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There the Monarch Oak appears,<br />

Son of thrice an hundred Years:<br />

There round their Chief a lowly Band<br />

Mixt in gay Confusion stand:<br />

Part reach their pious Arms to shade<br />

The sacred Ashes of the Dead;<br />

Part on the Mount’s steep Forehead grow,<br />

Nodding o’er the Waves below.<br />

Here too Cherwell rolls her Tide,<br />

Bending Willows crown her Side.<br />

Willow, inglorious, hapless Tree,<br />

Doom’d to wasting Flames a Prey;<br />

Fond of the sequester’d Vale,<br />

Ever languid, ever pale;<br />

Far from me thy Branch remove,<br />

Emblem fit for luckless Love!<br />

Nature, why dost thou bestow<br />

Here thy sweetly-varied Show?<br />

Why, in this luxuriant Clime,<br />

Wanton as in thy early Prime?<br />

Why, profuse of Sweets, outpour<br />

All thy long-collected Store?<br />

All that breathe in verdant Spring,<br />

All that yellow Summers bring,<br />

50

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