184 
FLORAL POESY. 
Then a cloud, more of sorrow than wrath, dimmed the brow 
Of Him to whom everything living should bow ; 
While to the offender, with shame now opprest, 
He breathed in these words the eternal behest: 
“ ‘Alas for thy fate ! thou must suffer, poor tree, 
For standing when others were bending the knee. 
Thou’rt doomed for thy fault an atonement to pay : 
Henceforth be a rush for the wild winds to sway. 
Sigh, sport of their fury, and slave of their will ! 
Bow, e’en in a calm, when all others are still ! 
And shivering, quivering, droop evermore, 
Because thou wouldst notw'ith thy brothers adore.’ 
“ The weak aspen trembled, turned pale with dismay, 
And is pallid with terror and grief to this day. 
Each tremulous leaf of the penitent tree 
Obeys to this moment the heavenly decree. 
’Tis the sport of the wild winds, the slave of their will ; 
E’en without a breeze bends, when all others stand still ; 
And full of emotion, its fault doth deplore, 
Sigh, shiver, and quiver, and droop evermore.” 
THE ASPEN TREE. 
CHARLES SWAIN. 
Why tremblest thou, Aspen ? no storm threatens nigh ; 
Not a cloud mars the peace of the love-beaming sky ; 
’Tis the spring of thy being—no autumn is near 
Thy green boughs to wither, thy sweet leaves to sear! 
The sun, like a crown, o’er thy young head shines free ; 
Then wherefore thus troubled ? what fearest thou, fair 
tree ? 
I have watched through the mildest, the stillest ot 
hours, 
When Nature slept soft on her pillow of flowers; 
