Old noted oak! I saw thee in a mood
Of vague indifference; and yet with me
Thy memory, like thy fate, hath lingering
stood

For years, thou hermit, in the lonely sea
Of grass that waves around thee!

a.

JOHN CLARE-The Rural Muse.
Burthorp Oak.

The monarch oak, the patriarch of the trees,
Shoots rising up, and spreads by slow degrees.
Three centuries he grows, and three he stays
Supreme in state; and in three more decays.
b. DRYDEN-Palamon and Arcite.
Bk. III. L. 1,058.

The oaks with solemnity shook their heads;
The twigs of the birch-trees, in token
Of warning, nodded,-and I exclaim'd:
"Dear Monarch, forgive what I've spoken!"
C. HEINE-Songs. Germany.

Caput XVII. Those green-robed senators of mighty woods, Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,

Dream, and so dream all night without a stir. d. KEATS-Hyperion. Bk. I. L. 73.

There grewe an aged tree on the greene;
A goodly Oake sometime had it bene,
With armes full strong and largely displayd,
But of their leaves they were disarayde:
The bodie bigge, and mightely pight,
Thoroughly rooted, and of wond'rous hight;
Whilome had bene the king of the field,
And mochell mast to the husband did yielde,
And with his nuts larded many swine:
But now the gray mosse marred his rine;
His bared boughes were beaten with stormes,
His toppe was bald, and wasted with wormes,
His honour decayed, his braunches sere.
h. SPENSER Shepheard's Callender.

Februarie.

Next to thee, O fair gazelle,

O Beddowee girl, beloved so well;
Next to the fearless Nedjidee,

Whose fleetness shall bear me again to thee;
Next to ye both I love the Palm,

With his leaves of beauty, his fruit of balm;
Next to ye both I love the Tree
Whose fluttering shadow wraps us three
With love, and silence, and mystery!

a. BAYARD TAYLOR-The Arab to the Palm.

Of threads of palm was the carpet spun
Whereon he kneels when the day is done,
And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one!
To him the palm is a gift divine,
Wherein all uses of man combine,-
House and raiment and food and wine!
And, in the hour of his great release,
His need of the palm shall only cease
With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace.
"Allah il Allah!" he sings his psalm,
On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm;
"Thanks to Allah, who gives the palm!"
b. WHITTIER-The Palm-Tree.

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 withou words.