The Norton Elm.
Upon the green, in the centre of the town of Chipping Norton, for two centuries at least, had stood a wide spreading colossal Elm Tree; a market hall being held desirable, it was, by the "powers that be" decided to have the old tree cut down, and the present glorious structure erected on the spot where it stood.
Two hundred years at least, had seen
This Monarch Elm on Norton Green;
The noisy rooks its boughs among,
Had built their nests and reared their young;
The sparrows claimed a vested right
To chirrup on its topmost height;
The starling, in its hollow arm,
Had built, for years, its nest so warm.
(Though, lying useless, all around
Was lots of fitting vacant ground),
The poor old tree was doomed to fall,
And rooks and starlings banished all.
It was a pity, for this tree
Formed part of Norton's history.
Grey-headed men would speak, with glee,
Of boyhood's sports beneath that tree;
And crones, grown garrulous, would tell
How early swains had tried to spell
Their rude initials on its bark,
And show, or try to show, the mark.
Could it have told—that nature's child,
