the pines (after pondal)

[fledgist]

what say those who whisper upon the coastal height
their bent pine-branches by the soft wind shaken
for clear words we have their murmurs taken
illumined by the pale rays of the deep moonlight
their essence shines through darkly green yet bright
we hear their speech we are in no way mistaken
they summon a hero's heirs at long last to waken
and for their noble heritage in proper time to fight
the good and generous their urgent talk will hearken
and eagerly will gather to hear even harshest sound
while the miserly and submissive still bend to the yoke
their dull spirits should not our stout hearts darken
we must now stand and cherish our own ancestral ground
the wise bards now are praising a free and honest folk