That Had Been Converted Into A May-pole In The Town Of Llanidloes, In Montgomeryshire

Ah! birch tree, with the verdant locks,

And reckless mind--long hast thou been

A wand'rer from thy native rocks;

With canopy of tissue green,

And stem that 'mid the sylvan scene

A sceptre of the forest stood--

Thou art a traitress to the wood!

How oft, in May's short nights of old,

To my love-messenger and me

Thou didst a couch of leaves unfold!

Thou wert a house of m

Proud music soared from every bough;

Ah! those who loved thee sorrow now!

Thy living branches teemed and rang

With every song the woodlands know,

And every woodland flow'ret sprang

To life--thy spreading tent below.

Proud guardian of the public way,

Such wert thou, while thou didst obey

The counsel of my beauteous bride--

And in thy native grove reside!

But now thy stem is mute and dark,

No more by lady's reverence cheered;

Rent from its trunk, torn from its park,

The luckless tree again is reared--

(Small sign of honour or of grace!)

To mark the parish market-place!

Long as St. Idloes' town shall be

A patroness of poesy--

Long as its hospitality

The bard shall freely entertain,

My birch! thy lofty stature shall remain!