288 LINES TO AN ORANGE-TREE. 
Thus, Lady, when life’s coming blight 
Has paled thy dimples’ vernal glow, 
And dimmed thine orbs of starry light, 
xYnd flecked thy raven locks with snow; 
Shall love, like these sweet lingerers, seem 
Still lovelier for thy faded prime, 
And gild with softer, holier beam 
The waste of Beauty’s Autumn time I 
TO AN OBANGE-TKEE RECEIVED FROM THE WEST INDIES LATE IN 
AUTUMN. 
W P. Palmer. 
W'ROM thine Eden of the sea 
■*" Hapless tree ! 
Where eternal Summer smiles 
On the green Caribbean isles, 
Borne to this ungenial clime 
In the scowling Autumn time 
Poor forlorn one, be of cheer, 
Hope is here! 
