TREASON.

  Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep,
  And in his simple show he harbors treason. 
  The fox barks not, when he would steal the lamb.
King Henry VI., Pt.  II.  Act iii.  Sc. 1 SHAKESPEARE.

  Treason is not owned when ’t is descried;
  Successful crimes alone are justified.
Medals.  J. DRYDEN.

  Treason doth never prosper:  what’s the reason? 
  For if it prosper, none dare call it treason.
Epigrams.  SIR J. BARRINGTON.

  Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence
  With vizored falsehood and base forgery?
Comus.  MILTON.

  Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave
    Whose treason, like a deadly blight,
  Comes o’er the councils of the brave,
    And blasts them in their hour of might!
Lalla Rookh:  The Fire Worshipers.  T. MOORE.

  To say the truth, so Judas kissed his master. 
  And cried “All hail!” whereas he meant all harm.
King Henry VI., Pt.  III.  Act v.  Sc. 7 SHAKESPEARE.

  Tellest thou me of “ifs”?  Thou art a traitor: 
  Off with his head! so much for Buckingham!
King Richard III.  Altered, Act iv, Sc. 3.  C. CIBBER

TREE.

  Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets hail! 
  Ye lofty pines! ye venerable oaks! 
  Ye ashes wild, resounding o’er the steep! 
  Delicious is your shelter to the soul.
Seasons:  Summer.  J. THOMSON.

  Now all the tree-tops lay asleep,
    Like green waves on the sea,
  As still as in the silent deep
    The ocean woods may be.
The Recollection.  P.B.  SHELLEY.

  Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
      Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
      The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
    Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
    And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
      No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
      No sepulchre conceals a martyr’s bones,
    No marble bishop on his tomb reclines. 
  Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
      Gives back a softened echo to thy tread! 
    Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
  In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
      Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
    And learn there may be worship without words.
My Cathedral.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

  Those green-robed senators of mighty woods,
  Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
  Dream, and so dream all night without a stir.
Hyperion, Bk.  I.  J. KEATS.

A brotherhood of venerable Trees. Sonnet composed at ——­ Castle.  W. WORDSWORTH.

  Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm,
  A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend
  Shade above shade, a woody theatre
  Of stateliest view.
Paradise Lost, Bk.  IV.  MILTON.