[p39] And the threats of the Elder were heard to abound—
Like pellets from popguns they rattled around.
Discontented and moody the Drooping Larch lower’d,
The Crab knit his brows, for his temper was sour’d;
While the Birch-tree declared that the ill-fated elves,
Their opponents, were making a rod for themselves.
With wrath and vexation the Maple ran o’er;
The Aspen-tree trembled, the Willow wept sore;
The Tulip-tree blush’d, and the Sumach-tree sigh’d,
And the Dyer’s Oak thought it a stain on their pride.