There was a lofty pine I knew;
Each morn and eve I passed it by;
To such a lofty height it grew,
It caught at once each passing eye.

It stood alone, and proudly stood,
With straight, and clean, and lofty stem;
All other trees it seemed to view,
As though it scorn'd to live with them.

Full many a winter's snow had whirl'd
About its base, and settl'd there,
And many an autumn mist had curl'd
About its head, so high in air.

Full many a blast had spent, in vain,
Its force, for, ever like a rock,
It stood each persevering strain,
And long defied the tempest's shock.

But yesternight it crashing fell,
And now, this morn, I see it lie.
I knew the brave old tree so well,
A tear almost bedims my eye.

But brave old trees, like brave old men,
Must feel at last the fatal stroke,
That dashest them to earth again,
Tho' lofty pine, or mighty oak.