196 H ^prig of ^rboi* 2Fttff. 



A sprig of Arbor Vitse green, 



By loving fingers pluck'd for me ; 



Much treasur'd emblem of what's been, 

 And what shall ever be. 



O sprig of Arbor Vitse, dead, 



Though cherish'd still, you soon will be ; 

 But " Friendship shall for aye," she said, 



" Blossom 'twixt you and me." 



O sprig of Arbor Vitas, when 

 I'm laid with better ones below. 



And still'd is erring heart and pen. 

 For me one tear will flow. 



