76 SYLVA BRITANNICA. 



Here in full light the russet plains extend, 



There, wrapt in clouds, the blueish hills ascend. 



Let India boast her plants, nor envy we 



The weeping amber of the balmy tree ; 



While by our Oaks the precious loads are borne, 



And realms commanded which those trees adorn." 



WINDSOR FOREST. 



THE BURNHAM BEECHES. 



" This beautiful track of woodland is four miles 

 from Stoke Pogis, in Buckinghamshire, and is cele- 

 brated as the scene of Gray's poetic musings, who 

 gives the following description of it to Horace Wal- 

 pole : " I have at the distance of half a mile," says 

 he, " through a green lane, a forest (the vulgar call 

 it a common) all my own, at least as good as so, for 

 I spy no human thing in it but myself. It is a little 

 chaos of mountains and precipices ; mountains, it is 

 true, that do not ascend much above the clouds, nor 

 are the declivities quite so amazing as Dover Cliff; 

 but just such hills as people who love their necks as 

 much as I do, may venture to climb, and crags that 

 give the eye as much pleasure as if they were more 

 dangerous ; both vale and hill are covered with 

 most venerable beeches, and other very reverend 

 vegetables, that, like most other ancient people, are 

 always dreaming out their old stories to the winds. 



