these monumental inscriptions, tells us there were two hundred of them. The columns on which they were fixed served also to bear up the vast limbs of the tree, which began through age to become unwieldy. Thus this mighty plant stood many years in great state, the ornament of the town, the admiration of the country, and supported, as it were, by the princes of the empire. At length it felt the effects of war. Niestad was surrounded by an enemy, and the limbs of this venerable tree were mangled in wantonness by the besieging troops. Whether it still exists, I know not; but long after these injuries it stood a noble ruin, discovering, by the foundations of the several monuments, which formerly propped its spreading boughs, how far its limits had once extended. I shall next celebrate the Lime of Cleves. This, also, was a tree of great magnificence. It grew in an open plain, just at the entrance of the city, and was thought an object worthy to exercise the taste of the magistracy. The burgomaster of his day had it surveyed with great accuracy, and trimmed into eight broad, pyramidal faces. Each corner was supported by a handsome stone pillar; and in the middle of the tree, among the branches, was cut a noble room, which the vast space contained within easily suffered, without injuring the regularity of any of the eight faces. To crown all, the top was curiously clipped into some kind of head, and adorned artificially, but in what manner, whether with the head of a lion, or a stag, a weather-cock, or a sun-dial, we are not told. It was something, however, in the highest style of Dutch taste. This tree was long the admiration and envy of all the states of Holland. WILLIAM GILPIN, 1724-1807. THE BIRCH-TREE. Rippling through thy branches goes the sunshine, Ovid in thee a pining Nymph had prisoned, The soul once of some tremulous, inland river, Quivering to tell her woe, but, ah! dumb, dumb forever! While all the forest, witched with slumberous moonshine, Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse suspended I hear afar thy whispering, gleamy islands, And track thee wakeful still amid the wide-hung silence. Upon the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet, Thy foliage, like the tresses of a Dryad, Dripping about thy slim white stem, whose shadow Slopes quivering down the water's dusky quiet, Thou shrink'st, as on her bath's edge would some strolled Dryad. Thou art the go-between of rustic lovers; Thy white bark has their secrets in its keeping; Reuben writes here the happy name of Patience, Thou art to me like my beloved maiden, So frankly coy, so full of trembly confidences; Whether my heart with hope or sorrow tremble, J. R. LOWELL. THE HEMLOCK-TREE. FROM THE GERMAN. O hemlock-tree! O hemlock-tree! how faithful are thy branches! Green not alone in summer time, But in the winter's frost and rime! O hemlock-tree! O hemlock-tree! how faithful are thy branches! O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom! And leave me in adversity O maiden fair! O maiden fair! how faithless is thy bosom ! The nightingale! the nightingale thou tak'st for thine example! So long as summer laughs she sings, But in the autumn spreads her wings; The nightingale! the nightingale thou tak'st for thine example! The meadow-brook, the meadow-brook is mirror of thy falsehood! It flows so long as falls the rain; In drought its springs soon dry again; The meadow-brook, the meadow-brook is mirror of thy falsehood! Anonymous. Translation of H. W. LONGFELLOW. THE OAK. IMITATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF METASTASIO. The tall oak, towering to the skies, O'erwhelmed at length, upon the plain JAMES MONTGOMERY. ON AN ANCIENT OAK. FROM THE GREEK OF ANTIPHILUS. Hail, venerable boughs, that in mid sky WOOD NOTES. And such I knew a forest seer, A lover true, who knew by heart, A plant in any secret place; 206 But he would come in the very hour As if a sunbeam showed the place, It seemed as if the breezes brought him; As if by secret sight he knew Where, in far fields, the orchis grew. Many haps fall in the field, Seldom seen by wistful eyes; But all her shows did Nature yield, To please and win this pilgrim wise. And at his bidding seemed to come. In unplowed Maine he sought the lumberer's gang, The all-seeing sun for ages hath not shone; And up the tall mast runs the woodpecker. He saw beneath dim aisles, in odorous beds, The slight Linnea hang its twin-born heads; And blessed the monument of the man of flowers, Which breathes his sweet fame through the northern bowers. He heard, when in the grove, at intervals, With sudden roar the aged pine-tree falls One crash, the death-hymn of the perfect tree, Declares the close of its green century. Low lies the plant to whose creation went Sweet influence from every element; Whose living towers the years conspired to build- The timid it concerns to ask their way, And fear what foe in caves and swamps can stray; To make no step until the event is known, R. W. EMERSON. A PINE-FOREST. Those who have only lived in forest countries, where vast tracts are shaded by a dense growth of oak, ash, chestnut, hickory, and other trees of deciduous foliage, which present the most pleasing varieties of verdure and freshness, can have but little idea of the effect produced on the feelings by aged forests of pine, composed in great degree of a single species, whose towering summits are crowned with one dark-green canopy, which successive seasons find unchanged, and nothing but death causes to vary. Their robust and gigantic trunks rise a hundred or more feet high in purely proportioned columns before the limbs begin to diverge; and their tops, densely clothed with long, bristling foliage, intermingle so closely as to allow of but slight entrance to the sun. Hence the undergrowth of such forests is comparatively slight and thin, since none but shrubs and plants that love the shade can flourish under this perpetual exclusion of the animating and invigorating rays of the great exciter of the vegetable world. Through such forests, and by the merest foot-paths in great part, it was my lot to pass many miles almost every day; and had I not endeavored to derive some amusement and instruction from the study of the forest itself, my time would have been as fatiguing to me as it was certainly quiet and solemn. But wherever Nature is, and under whatever form she may present herself, enough is always proffered to fix attention and to produce pleasure, if we will condescend to observe with carefulness. I soon found that even a pineforest was far from being devoid of interest. JOHN M. GODMAN, 1795-1829. |