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Ned Farmer's Scrap Book.
35
It was a pity, for this tree
Formed part of Norton's history;
Grey-headed men would speak, with glee,
Of boyhood's sports beneath that tree,
And crones, grown garrulous, would tell
How early swains had tried to spell
Their rude initials on its bark,
And show, or try to show, the mark.
Could it have told, that nature's child,
The stories true, and legends wild;
The many changes, bad and good,
That had occurred since there it stood,
'Twould form a chronicle, to read,
Strange, very, very strange indeed.
The spoiler came in evil hour,
Who, lacking taste, and having power,
O monstrous act! decreed its fall,
And built a paltry Market Hall!
Significant.
Anybody will lend you an umbrella when it doesn't rain.
