1G8 ENGLISH BOTANY. 



" The viper lias ne'er been known to sting, 

 Or the nightingale e'er heard to sing." 



The beech tree is remarkable for the extraordinary and tortuous growth of its 



branches, and the knotted and rough appearance of the stems. The bark, however, 



is remarkably smooth and shining, and peculiarly tempting to the rustic carver. 



Poets in many verses have recognised the favourite custom of carving names on the 



bai'k of the beech trees. Shakespeai-e says, " A man haunts the forest that abuses 



our young trees with carving Rosalind upon theii' bark." And we read in LuLs do 



Gongora that 



" Not a beech but bears some cipher, 



Tender word or amorous text. 



If one vale sounds Angelina, 



Angelina sounds the next." 



Our own poet Campbell avails himself of the plea of long-cherished names in his 

 appeal on behalf of the beech tree : — 



" Thrice twenty summers have I stood 

 In bloomless, fruitless solitude ; 

 Since childhood in my rustling bower 

 First spent its sweet and sportive hour ; 

 Since youthful lovers in my shade 

 Their vows of truth and rapture paid ; 

 And on my trunk's surviving frame 

 Carved many a long-forgotten name. 

 Oh, by the vows of gentle sound 

 First breathed upon this sacred ground ; 

 By all that love hath whispered here. 

 Or beauty heard with ravished ear ; 

 As love's own altar honour rue ! 

 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree." 



Virgil alludes to this practice of carving letters on the beech tree. In Dryden's 



translation we read — 



" Or shall I rather the sad verse. repeat 



Which on the beech's bark I lately writ?" 



Tasso's well-known lines say — 



" On the smooth beechen rind the pensive dame 

 Carves in a thousand forms her Tancred's name." 



Wo read of " beechen goblets " in several well-known verses. Milton writes — 



" In beechen goblets let their bev'rage shine, 

 Cool from the crystal spring their sober wine." 



And Cowley speaks of the happy times when 



" The beechen bowl Avithout debauch went round, 

 And was with harmless mirth and roses crowned ; 

 'Twas not that any virtue in the wood 

 Against the baneful liquor was thought good, 

 But poverty and innocence were here 

 The antidote ai'ainst all ills and fear," 



