Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough!In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now.'T was my forefather's hand That placed it near his cot;There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not.
That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renownAre spread o'er land and sea -- And wouldst thou hew it down?Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties;Oh, spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies!
When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade;In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played.My mother kissed me here; My father pressed my hand --Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand.
My heart-strings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend!Here shall the wild-bird sing, And still thy branches bend.Old tree! the storm still brave! And, woodman, leave the spot;While I've a hand to save, Thy axe shall harm it not.
