Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Генри Уодсворт Лонгфелло)

Eliot's Oak

Thou ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud
  With sounds of unintelligible speech,
  Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach,
  Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd;
With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed,
  Thou speakest a different dialect to each;
  To me a language that no man can teach,
  Of a lost race, long vanished like a cloud.
For underneath thy shade, in days remote,
  Seated like Abraham at eventide
  Beneath the oaks of Mamre, the unknown
Apostle of the Indians, Eliot, wrote
  His Bible in a language that hath died
  And is forgotten, save by thee alone.

1. The Crew of the Long Serpent
2. Seaweed
3. Something Left Undone
4. The Four Princesses at Wilna
5. The Discoverer of the North Cape

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