" Behold I stand by the Aspin road, an old and worn-out Pine, The years I cannot recollect that make this life of mine:

The Aure valley, as we descended, and the tiny hamlet of Aspin, looked very peaceful and lovely; in fact, the whole of the extensive sceneconsidered one of the finest to be enjoyed by driving in the Pyreneesseemed to spread out its charms before us.

ASPIN, a small village in the Aure valley, Hautes-Pyrénées, below the Col of the same name, on the road between Bigorre and Luchon.

They made a bier of the broken bough The sauch and the aspin grey, And they bore him to the Lady Chapel, And waked him there all day.

They buried him at the mirk midnight, When the dew fell cold and still, When the aspin grey forgot to play, And the mist clung to the hill.