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APOSTROPHE.
APOSTROPHE
TO
An OLD TREE.
WHERE thy broad branches brave the bitter North,
Like rugged, indigent, unheeded, worth,
Lo! Vegetation's guardian hands emboss
Each giant limb with fronds of studded moss,
Clothing the bark with many a fringed fold
Begemm'd with scarlet shields and cups of gold,
Which, to the wildest winds their webs oppose,
And mock the arrowy sleet, or weltering snows.
—But to the warmer West the Woodbine fair
With tassels that perfumed the Summer air,
