ASPEN. 
241 
A voice from its leaves seemed to wail on mine ear, 
“ List, mortal; attend the dark source of my fear ; 
Ah, learn the dread hour when we sank ’neath rebuke, 
And our boughs, as if grasped by a hurricane, shook ! 
When the morn rose in blood, when the dead wept 
around, 
And a curse ’gainst our seed burst in woe from the 
ground !— 
“ The Cross, amidst lightning on Calvary stained, 
Was made from our roots; there His blood hath re¬ 
mained ! 
Creation, accursing, in misery spoke, 
And a shudder eternal then first o’er us broke ! 
From the serpent were named, the last doomed to betray ! 
Oh 1 no rest for the Aspen till earth fades away!” 
THE ASPEN. 
MRS. HEMANS. 
The blessed cross whereon 
The meek Redeemer bowed His head to death 
Was framed of aspen wood ; and since that hour 
Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down 
A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe, 
Making them tremulous when not a breeze 
Disturbs the thistle-down. 
