tection against chill is afforded. This forest trees that beautified a homestead near 



seems reasonable, but the whole subject by, the property of his companion. This 



of the meaning of plant colors is very companion quotes him as saying on this 



obscure. occasion: "There is nothing in vegetable 



'' nature so grand as a tree. Grappling with 



Gen. Robert E. Lee was a great lover its roots the granite foundations of the ever- 



of forest trees. He owned a large and lasting hills, it reaches its sturdy and gnarled 



beautiful forest in northern Virginia at the trunk on high, spreads its branches to the 



time of the War of the Rebellion. While heavens, casts its shadow on the sward; and 



the army of Virginia was encamped near the birds build their nests and sing amid its 



Fredericksburg, he was gazing at the great umbrageous branches. ' ' 



THE BRAVE OLD OAK. 



A song to the oak, the brave old oak, 



Who hath ruled in the greenwood long ; 

 Here's health and renown to his broad green crown, 



And his fifty arms so strong. 

 There's fear in his frown when the sun goes down, 



And the fire in the west fades out ; 

 And he showeth his might, on a wild midnight, 



When the storms through his branches shout. 



Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak, 



Who stands in his pride alone ; 

 And still flourish he, a hale, green tree, 



When a hundred years are gone. 



In the days of old, when the spring with cold 



Had brightened his branches gray. 

 Through the grass at his feet crept maidens sweet 



To gather the dew of May; 

 And on that day, to the rebeck gay 



They frolicked with lovesome swains ; 

 They are gone, they are dead, in the churchyard laid, 



But the tree, it still remains 



Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak, 



Who stands in his pride alone ; 

 And still flourish he, a hale old tree. 



When a hundred years are gone. 



He saw the rare times when the Christmas chimes 



Were a merry sound to hear. 

 When the squire's wide hall and the cottage small 



Were filled with good English cheer. 

 Now gold hath the sway we all obey. 



And a ruthless king is he ; 

 But he never shall send our ancient friend 



To be tossed on the stormy sea. 



Then here's to the oak, the brave old oak. 



Who stands in his pride alone ; 

 And still flourish he, a hale, green tree. 



When a hundred years are gone. 



— Heiwy Fothergill Chorley. 



102 



