A time-worn tree, he could not bring His heart to screen the merry king, Or countenance his scandals;-- Then men were measured by their wit,-- And then the mimic statesmen lit At either end their candles! While Blake was busy with the Dutch They gave his poor old arms a crutch: And thrice four maids and men ate A meal within his rugged bark, When Coventry bewitched the park, And Chatham swayed the senate. His few remaining boughs were green, And dappled sunbeams danced between, Upon the dappled deer, When, clad in black, a pair were met To read the Waterloo Gazette,-- They mourned their darling here. They joined their boy. The tree at last Lies prone--discoursing of the past, Some fancy-dreams awaking; Resigned, though headlong changes come,-- Though nations arm to tuck of drum, And dynasties are quaking. Romantic spot! By honest pride Of eld tradition sanctified; My pensive vigil keeping, I feel thy beauty like a spell, And thoughts, and tender thoughts, upwell, That fill my heart to weeping. * * * * * The Squire affirms, with gravest look, His oak goes up to Domesday Book!-- And some say even higher! We rode last week to see the ruin, We love the fair domain it grew in, And well we love the Squire. A nature loyally controlled, And fashioned in that righteous mould Of English gentleman;-- My child may some day read these rhymes,-- She loved her "godpapa" betimes,-- The little Christian! I love the Past, its ripe pleasance, Its lusty thought, and dim romance, And heart-compelling ditties; But more, these ties, in mercy sent, With faith and true affection blent, And, wanting them, I were content To murmur, "_Nunc dimittis_." HALLINGBURY, _April, 1859_. AN INVITATION TO ROME, AND THE REPLY. THE INVITATION. O, come to Rome, it is a pleasant place, Your London sun is here seen shining brightly: The Briton too puts on a cheery face, And Mrs. Bull is _suave_ and even sprightly. The Romans are a kind and cordial race, The women charming, if one takes them rightly; I see them at their doors, as day is closing, More proud than duchesses--and more imposing. A "_far niente_" life promotes the graces;-- They pass from dreamy bliss to wakeful glee, And in their bearing, and their speech, one traces A breadth of grace and depth of courtesy That are not found in more inclement places; Their clime and tongue seem much in harmony; The Cockney met in Middlesex, or Surrey, Is often cold--and always in a hurry.