SONNET. 81 



its measurement at the base, has numbered at least nine 

 hundred years ; its dimensions being thirty-three feet in cir- 

 cumference at the ground, and twenty feet in circumference 

 at five feet from the ground. We trust this venerable tree 

 vrill long stand a monument to the memory of the Winning- 

 tons and Ingrams of our county ; and may future generations 

 of these w^orthy families exclaim beneath its umbrageous 

 shade — 



Hail, stately oak ! whose wrinkled trunk hath stood. 

 Age after age, the sov'reign of the wood. 



This beautiful oak is accurately represented in the annexed 

 engraving ; it is reduced from a drawing taken on the spot in 

 the summer of 1833, by Mr. W. Wood. 



About a mile and a half from the mansion stands a singular 

 and very curious botanical phenomenon. It is a hollow pol- 

 lard oak, whose circumference at the ground is seventeen 

 feet, forming a complete hollow cylinder, which is entirely filled 

 up with the body of a yew tree to the height of nearly twenty 

 feet, when its foliage assumes an elegant appearance above 

 the high branching boughs of the oak which extend far and 

 wide from its hollow trunk. The solemn dark green foliage 

 of this native of Britain, which was once the pride and boast 

 of the old English yeoman "in days of yore,'* towering above 

 the boughs of its aged companion, must form a curious and 

 interesting contrast through the varied seasons of the year. 

 There can be little doubt but the seed of the yew was de- 

 posited in the hollow trunk of the oak by one of the feathered 

 tribe, which springing up, secure within its prison-house, 

 from every storm, has produced this singular phenomenon of 

 nature. 



SONNET. 



By Sir Egerton Brydges, Bart. 



With life's unceasing tempest struggling still. 

 Onward I go ; — no interval of rest 

 To calm the troubles of my beating breast ; 

 But thus it is, perchance that I fulfil 

 Th' allotted part that is my Maker's will ; 

 And thus hereafter, when his high behest 

 Shall call on trembling mortals to attest 

 Their labours here, some mercy for the ill 

 That I have done on earth I may obtain. 

 Neglected, scorn'd, traduced, with threats pursued. 

 Which boldest minds have awed, yet all in vain : 

 The Muse's rites no sufferings have subdued ; . 

 From paths her votaries haunt I cannot swerve. 

 Careless of gaining praise, if I deserve. 



