220 THE ENCHANTED PLANTS. 



<* Ah, nature ! why, when all is gay, 

 Or resting from the toils of day, 

 Why is my waking soul the shrine 

 Of sense so exquisitely fine ? 



(f If but a sunbeam strikes too warm, 

 How faint my undulating form ! 

 The most dispirited of trees, 

 If hollow sounds the evening breeze. 



" When cloudy yon blue vault appears, 

 Instant I droop, dissolved in tears ; 

 If but a Poplar frowns in scorn, 

 I sorrow that I e'er was bom." 



While thus she mourned, she sobbed aloud, 

 And to the stream her branches bowed ; 

 I gazed ; and still she wept and sighed, 

 Yet seemed to feel a secret pride. 



An Alder, by her plaints awoke, 

 Thus in reproachful accents spoke, 

 " Why, Willow, why these vigils keep, 

 And break the sacred hour of-sleep ? 



