MILTON AND SOUTHEY. 71 



" The fig tree, not that kind for fruit renown'd, 

 But such as at this clay to Indians known 

 In Malabar or Deccan, spreads her arms 

 Branching so broad and long, that in the ground 

 The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 

 About the mother tree, a pillar'd shade 

 High overarched, and echoing walks between; 

 There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, 

 Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds 

 At loop-holes cut through thickest shade." 



MRS. c. 

 It is given quite with the pen of a naturalist. 



MRS. F. 



Southey also describes it minutely in his " Curse of Ke- 

 hama:" 



" 'Twas a fair scene wherein they stood, 

 A green and sunny glade amid the wood, 

 And in the midst an aged Banian grew. 

 It was a goodly sight to see 

 That venerable tree; 

 For o'er the lawn, irregularly spread, 

 Fifty straight columns propt its lofty head, 

 And many a long depending shoot 

 Seeking to strike its root, 

 Straight, like a plummet, grew towards the ground. 



Some on the lower boughs, which crost their way, 

 Fixing their bearded fibres, round and round, 

 With many a ring and wild contortion wound; 

 Some to the passing winds, at times, with sway 



Of gentle motion swung; 



Others of younger growth, unmoved, were hung, 

 Like stone-drops from the cavern's fretted height. 

 Beneath was smooth and fair to sight, 

 Nor weeds nor briers deform'd the natural floor; 

 And through the leafy cope which bowered it o'er 



Came gleams of chequer'd light. 

 So like a temple did it seem, that there 

 A pious heart's first impulse would be prayer." 



