Kl NNIMKUK.

��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 tnu <!, 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.

�� �