CHAP. XL] CUPULIFERiE. 193 



depicted in the beautiful lines adapted by 

 Cowper to the hollow trunk of a gigantic oak in 

 Yardley Chase near Castle Ashby: — 



Thou wert a bauble once, a cup and ball 

 Which babes might play with ; and the thievish jay, 

 Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd 

 The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down 

 Thy yet close folded latitude of boughs. 

 And all thy embryo vastness, at a gulp. 

 ****** 

 Time made thee what thou wert — King of the Woods ! 

 And time hath made thee what thou art — a cave 

 For owls to roost in ! Once thy spreading boughs 

 O'erhung the champaign, and the numerous flock 

 That grazed it, stood beneath that ample cope 

 Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the storm. 

 ****** 

 Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self 

 Possessing nought but the scoop'd rind, that seems 

 A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink, 

 Which it would give in rivulets to thy roots ; 

 Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st 

 The feller's toil, which thou wouldst ill requite. 

 Yet is thy root sincere, sound as a rock : 

 A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs, 

 Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp 

 The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. 

 Thine arms have left thee — winds have rent them off 

 Long since ; and rovers of the forest wild 

 With bow and shaft have burnt them. Some have left 

 A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white ; 

 And some, memorial none where once they grew. 

 Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth 

 Proof not contemptible of what she can, 

 Even when death predominates. The spring 



