NATURE AND THE POETS 103 



ting phrases and keen observations in his pages, 



and lines that are exactly, and at the same time 



poetically, descriptive. He is the only writer I 



know of who has noticed the fact that the roots of 



trees do not look supple and muscular like their 



boughs, but have a stiffened, congealed look, as of 



a liquid hardened. 



" Their roots, like molten metal cooled in flowing, 

 Stiffened in coils and runnels down the bank." 



This is exactly the appearance the roots of most 

 trees, when uncovered, present; they flow out from 

 the trunk like diminishing streams of liquid metal, 

 taking the form of whatever they come in contact 

 with, parting around a stone and uniting again 

 beyond it, and pushing their way along with many 

 a pause and devious turn. One principal office of 

 the roots of a tree is to gripe, to hold fast the 

 earth: hence they feel for and lay hold of every 

 inequality of surface; they will fit themselves to 

 the top of a comparatively smooth rock, so as to 

 adhere amazingly, and flow into the seams and 

 crevices like metal into a mould. 



Lowell is singularly true to the natural history 

 of his own county. In his "Indian-Summer Rev- 

 erie " we catch a glimpse of the hen-hawk, silently 

 sailing overhead 



"With watchful, measuring eye," 



the robin feeding on cedar berries, and the squirrel, 



"On the shingly shagbark's bough." 



I do not remember to have met the "shagbark" in 

 poetry before, or that gray lichen-covered stone wall 



