As industry and urban expansion replaced rural scenes, the poem was cherished as both an evocation of the past and a polite protest against "progress." Even those who had never read the poem knew its title and used it as a convenient way to express environmentalist attitudes before environmentalism became a political movement.
"The Woodcutter Don't Cut Down That Tree" (from "The American Reader") George Perkins Morris (1802-1864), journalist, poet and dramatist. In the 1820s, he served as editor of the New York Mirror, but he is best known for his sentimental poems, the most important of which is "Woodcutter, Don't Cut Down That Tree." In addition to this poem, his other poems include: "Do you know?" "Mother's Bible", "Complete Collection of Hymns", etc.
"Woodcutter Don't Cut Down That Tree"
As industry and urban expansion replaced the rural scene, people cherished this tree very much,
Woodcutter, don't chop down that tree!
Don’t touch a single branch!
Forgive my foolish tears,
Let the old oak tree stay!
Appreciate the poems and experience the emotions. Sternly yell "Woodcutter, don't cut down that tree!" You are not allowed to touch a branch of him. "I" regard myself as the protector of that tree. Not allowing anyone to harm it, the author of Destruction begged in an almost pleading tone to let the old oak tree stay. "I" can cry and beg regardless of self-esteem, and can see the deep affection for the old oak tree. A man can cry without getting tired of crying, but he has not reached the point of sadness. Tears that may seem "stupid" to others are indeed the most sincere emotions for the poet. Woodcutter, don't chop down that tree
George Perkins Morris
Woodman, don't chop down that tree!
Don’t touch a single branch!
It shaded me when I was young,
I have to protect it.
My ancestor planted this tree by his own hands.
Woodcutter, let it stand there.
Don’t damage it with your axe. !
That familiar old tree,
its glory and fame
have spread everywhere,
you still want to Cut it off!
Woodcutter, don’t chop it down!
Its roots are firmly rooted in the soil;
Oh, don’t chop down that old oak tree,
It is already a towering tree!
When I was a child with nothing to do,
I often went to its cool shade;
< p>My sisters also come here,Merry and play;
My mother kissed me here,
My father will My hands touch,
Forgive my foolish tears,
Let the old oak remain!
Old friend, my heartstrings are around you ,
As connected to you as the bark of your tree.
When the wild birds sing here,
You can still bend the branches,
O old tree! Can you withstand the storm!?< /p>
Woodcutter, get out of that place;
While I can still reach out to save it,
don’t hurt it with your axe. "Mother's Bible"
This book is the only one left to me,
- Tears began to flow,
- With trembling lips and shaking
I hold it tightly in my heart.
Here is the tree of our family tree
Many generations have passed;
The Bible that my mother held in her hand,
< p>She gave it to me before she died.Ah!
I clearly remember
the names of these people are written on it;
after evening prayers,
the whole family often gathers around By the fireside,
Talking about what the book leaf said
That voice made my heart excited!
They have all died silently,
But they still live in my heart!
My father read this holy book
To my dear sisters and brothers,
The poor mother looked so peaceful,
She loves to hear God’s words the most!
Her angelic face — I still see it!
How vivid the memories gathered! In the hall at home,
the group met again! You are the most reliable friend,
I have experienced your unchanging steadfastness; you are my counselor and guide,
All people are false, but you are sincere.
All the mineral treasures on earth can be purchased
Can’t compare with this book;
It taught me the way to live,
Teach me how to die first!
Original text
My Mother's Bible This book is all that's left me now,
— Tears will unbidden start,
— With faltering lip and throbbing brow
I press it to my heart. For many generations past
Here is our family tree; My mother's hands this Bible clasped,
She , dying, gave it me.
Ah! well do I remember those
Whose names these records bear;
Who round the hearthstone used to close,< /p>
After the evening prayer,
And speak of what these pages said
In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still! My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters, dear; How calm was my poor mother's look,
Who loved God's word to hear!
Her angel face, — I see it yet!
What thronging memories come! Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home! Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I've tried; When all were false, I found thee true,
My counselor and guide. The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy; In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die!