©aft. 218 
Of the old tree within the glade, 
Called it—the Lady’s Oak. 
I know the spot—though strangely time 
Hath altered all around, 
Where once the forest’s stillness lay, 
Now whirling wheels resound. 
A large and busy peopled town 
E’en on that spot we see, 
Where dappled deer and timid birds 
Dwelt fearlessly and free. 
But I remember when a child, 
One old and mouldering shell 
Of a most ancient, huge Oak tree 
Stood near the public well. 
I’ve sat within it many a time, 
In childish sport and play, 
And much I mourned to see at last 
The trunk quite cleared away. 
Soon they built there a fine new street, 
And noisy coaches sweep 
With roar and riot,—even where 
That lady came to weep! 
Each passing year we note a change 
In ancient things and new; 
And if we see so much in one, 
What may not hundreds do? 
Louisa A. Twamley . 
