THE WOOD. 73 



Hast thou seen, in winter's stormiest day, 



The trunk of a blighted oak, 

 Not dead, but sinking in slow decay 



Beneath Time's resistless stroke ; 

 Round which a luxuriant ivy had grown, 

 And wreathed it with verdure no longer its own ? 



Perchance thou hast seen this sight, and then, 



As I at thy years might do, 

 Passed carelessly by, nor turned again 



That scathed wreck to view. 

 But now I can draw from that perishing tree 

 Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me. 



Oh ! smile not, nor think it a worthless thing 



If it be with instruction fraught ; 

 That which will closest and longest cling 



Is alone worth a serious thought ! 

 Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed 

 Grace on the dying, and leaves on the dead ? 



BERNARD BARTON. 



I have occasionally seen a large number of 

 moderately-sized trees so closely invested with 

 the luxuriant foliage of this plant as to present 

 in mid-winter the appearance of a vineyard ; but 

 it must be owned, I fear, that, greatly as trees are 

 indebted for their beautiful appearance to ivy, 

 their growth is much impeded by it. Not that 

 there is anything actually deleterious in its shade, 

 as some suppose, or that, according to others, its 

 fibres penetrate the bark of trees, and exhaust 

 their juices ; but, when it creeps and winds round 

 the trunks of the trees which support it, the ivy- 

 bands form a sort of net-work, and prevent them 

 from increasing in diameter. When this has taken 

 place, no room is left for the passage of the sap, 

 and the tree dwindles away, and sometimes dies in 

 consequence. Care, however, should be taken, in 



