WRITTEN AT THE WOOD-SALE OF MESSRS.

[ZaunköniG]

WRITTEN AT THE WOOD-SALE OF MESSRS.
BLANK AND CO. NON-RESIDENT PROPRIETORS

Shall not the phantom-axe, with viewless strokes,
The quiet purlieus of your traffic vex ?
And the grim voice of all these aged oaks
Go storming o'er your ledgers, to perplex
Vour clerks with sylvan horror ? This fair haunt
Of light and shadow, and divine repose,
Low-fallen at last beneath your ruthless blows,
Waits its last shame, the hammer. Do not vaunt
The pelf your ravage brings you ; for the ban
Of all the woods is on you ! you have spared
No shelter for the dreams of god or man.
Who stirr'd the wood-god's bile, what risks he ran
Of old ! ay, even the heedless swain, who dared
To tune his pipe across the nose of Pan !