And takes new lustre from the touch of time;
Its bough owns no December and no May,
But bears its blossom into Winter's clime.
[THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.][9]
I.
'Twas in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,
And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school:
There were some that ran and some that leapt,