Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire:
And he who wrought that spell?--
Ah, towering pine and stately Kentish spire,
Ye have one tale to tell!

Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant story
Blend with the breath that thrills
With hop-vines' incense all the pensive glory
That fills the Kentish hills.

And on that grave where English oak and holly
And laurel wreaths intwine,
Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly,--
This spray of Western pine!

* * * * *


THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF THIS BOOK
PRINTED BY EDWIN GRABHORN FOR JOHN HOWELL.
TITLE PAGE AND DECORATIONS BY JOSEPH SINEL.
THIS IS COPY NO. [Handwritten: 37]