

{ FLORA’S ALBUM. 3 

a Thu. 
Aspen Tree, 
“Why tremble so, broad aspen tree?” 
LAMENTATION. 

} Well, thou art gone, and I am left; 
{ But oh! how sold and dark to me 
This world, of every charm bereft, 
Where all was beautiful with thee ! 
MontT@omiry. 
* * * But now alone I sit, 
Musing of her, and dew with mournful tears 
Her little robes, that once with woman’s pride 
| I wrought, as if there were a need to deck 
What God had made so beautiful. I start, 
Half fancying from her empty crib there comes 
| A restless sound; and breathed the accustomed 
j words, 
“flush! hush thee, dearest.” Then I bend and 
| weep, — 
As though it were a sin to speak to one 
Whose home is with the angels. 
* * * * | 

| 
| 
| * * Gone to God! 
Be still, my heart! what could a mother’s prayer, 
| In all the wildest ecstasy of hope, 
Ask for its darling like the bliss of heaven? 
| Mrs. SIGOURNEY. | 




