��QUEER, quaint, old Chester, I had heard of thee From one, who in his boyhood knew thee well,
And therefore did I scan, with earnest eye, The castled turret, where he used to dwell,
And the fair walnut tree, whose branches bent
Their broad, embracing arms around the battlement.
His graphic words were like the painter s touch, So true to life, that I could scarce persuade
Myself I had not seen thy face before,
Or round those ancient walls and ramparts strayed,
And often, as thy varied haunts I ken d
Stretched out my hand to thee, as a familiar friend.
Grotesque and honest-hearted art thou, sure, And so behind this very changeful day,
So fond of antique fashions, it would seem Thou must have slept an age or two away.
The very streets are galleries, and I trow
Thy people all were born some hundred years ago.