" I mark'd a broad and blasted oak, 



Scorched by the lightning's livid glare, 

 Hollow its stem from, branch to branch, 



And all its shrivell'd arms were bare. 

 E'en to this day, the peasant still, 



"With cautious fear, avoids the ground ; 

 In each wild branch a spectre sees, 



And trembles at each rising sound." 



How beautiful is this wild spot, with its accompa- 

 niments of lawn and thicket, with its clear stream, now 

 prattling over a rocky bed, and now dancing in playful 

 eddies beside the tufts of grass and yellow flowers, that 

 skirt the margin of the water ! Innumerable boughs 

 shut out the distant prospect, and neither a church-spire, 

 nor curling smoke, ascending from some lone cottage, 

 betoken the abode of men. In the midst of this fair 

 spot stands a " caverned, huge, and thunder-blasted 

 oak;" its dry branches are white with age, the bark has 

 long since fallen from them, and most impressive is the 

 contrast which it presents to the lightness and the freshness 

 of the young green trees among which it stands, as 



D2 



