Page:Pleasant Memories.pdf/351

'T was beautiful, in English skies,
    That changeful April day,
When beams and clouds each other chased,
    Like tireless imps at play,
And father Thames went rolling on,
    In vernal wealth and pride,
As in our slender boat we swept
    Across his crystal tide.

And then, within a tasteful cot,
    The pictured wall we traced,
With relics of the feudal times,
    And quaint escutcheons graced
Of fearless knights, who bravely won
    For this sequestered spot
A name from wondering History's hand,
    That Death alone can blot.