Note 5 — Chapter XVI
Reading edition
Hawthorn brightly blossoming,
Thou dost fling
Verdant shadows down the river;
Thou art clad from top to roots
With long shoots
On which graceful leaflets quiver.
Here the poetic nightingale
Ne'er doth fail—
Having sung his love to capture—
To repair to consecrate,
'Neath thy verdure, hours of rapture.
Therefore live, O Hawthorn fair,
Live fore'er!
May no thunder bolt dare smite thee!
May no axe or cruel blast
Overcast!
May the tooth of time....