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 hieath 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! no rest for the Aspen till earth fades away f’ 
R 
