HAWTHORN. 
139 
But, red with fruit, that Hawthorn bough, 
Though leafless, yet will shine; 
The blackbird far its hues shall know, 
As lapwing knows the vine. 
Be thus thy youth as Lilies gay, 
Thy manhood vigorous green ; 
And thus let fruit bedeck thy spray, 
’Mid age’s leafless scene. 
The same .— anon. 
Fair Hawthorn flowering, 
With green shade bowering 
Along the lovely shore; 
To thy foot around 
With his long arm wound 
A wild vine has mantled thee o’er. 
In merry spring-tide, 
When to woo his bride 
The nightingale comes again, 
Thy boughs among 
He warbles his song, 
That lightens a lover’s pain. 
’Mid thy topmost leaves 
His nest he weaves 
Of moss and the satin fine, 
Where his callow brood 
Shall chirp at their food, 
Secure from each hand but min® 
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