THE LINDEN TREE.
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Here's q song for thee, of the lindea tree, A song of the siiken lime. There is no other tree so pleaseth me,

 No other so fit for rhyme. When was a boy, it was all my joy

 To rest in it's scented shade; When the sun was high, and the river nigh A musical murmur made. When, floating along, like a winged song The traveller bee would stop. An choose for its bower the lime-tree flower, And drink--to the last sweet drop. When the evening star stole forth, afar, And the knats flew round and around, sought for rhyme beneath the lime, Or dreamed on the grassy ground. An. years have fed, and the linden dead. Is brand on the cotteF's floor; And the river creeps, through its shiny deeIs' And youth-is thought oi yere. Yet they live again in the dreasneF's s'braln, As deeds of love and wrong, Which pass with sigh and seem to die, Survive in the poets song.