JANUARY. 55 



the following lines addressed to that identical mistle- 

 toe-adorned oak, which I before mentioned as having 

 observed in Eastnor Park in 1837, and where I am 

 happy to say it still exists, and will I hope long remain 

 for the admiration of the botanist and lover of sylvan 

 scenery. 



TO AN OAK WITH MISTLETOE GROWING ON IT.* 



Hail, King of the Forest ! at last I behold 

 The mystical plant on thy branches unroll'd ; 

 It mounts to the summit, the leaves flagging down, 

 And thou standest a seer with thy magical crown. 



But tell me, what hand, in the silence of night, 

 Array'd thy tall stern for the mystical rite ; 

 And how long, a meet subject for legend or story, 

 King of all thy compeers, thou hast stood hi thy glory ? 



'Midst the wreck of oblivion, a seer of the past, 

 Thou wavest in vain the proud wreath to the blast ; 

 Though the hills frown around thee as ever they frown'd, 

 No worshipper now for thy plant can be found. 



Too late thou uprearest its " all-healing" powers, 

 For no Druids now bend o'er the dark Vervain flowers ; 

 No priestly array shall thy honours proclaim, 

 No chieftains surround thee with joyous acclaim. 



* In the summer of 1840 I had again the felicity of looking up with 

 Druidical feelings at this phytological curiosity, in company with a fellow 

 wanderer of " auld long syne," enthusiastic on such subjects as myself. 

 A relic must needs be taken by him of the " golden branch ;" but as we 

 were deficient of VIRGIL'S falchion, and the " aureus ramus" flamed far 

 up in the tree, we were compelled, rather ingloriously, to attain our object 

 with turfy and cloddy missiles; and in the encounter, accident, or the 

 wounded Dryad of the tree, stove in the crown of my friend's hat with a 

 recoiling clod! Even botanical rambles have their exciting or even 

 jocular incidents. 



