Gigantic time-worn Tree, what moons have fled
Since thou wert planted first by warlike hand!
Nigh twice four hundred years have swept the land;
And yet, defying time, thou lift'st thy head
Still green, nor fear'st the storms that round have spread
Thy weak compeers. They scatter'd lie and rent;
Ev'n as that chieftain old, whose monument
Thou art. In him pleas'd fancy fain would trace
A Knight of high emprize and good intent,
Within whose breast wrong'd orphans' woes found place,
Ever in rightful cause the Champion free,
Of his proud times the ornament and grace;
A wight well worthy to recorded be
In fairest archives of bright Chivalry.