A song to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long;
Here's health and renown to his broad,
green crown, And his fifty arms so strong.
There's fear in his frown when the goes down,
And the fire in the West fades out;
And he showeth his might on a wild midnight,
When the storms through his branches shout. [ H. F. Chorley ]