160 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS. 



Beautiful is the hawthorn in its youth, and equally 

 fantastic in old age, when covered with moss and long 

 pendent lichens. Such was the old tree, in which, ac- 

 cording to the poet, dwelt a small wood-sprite, whose brief 

 history is embodied in language equally musical and refined, 

 and which, while introducing to the young imagination 

 {e some of the natural poetry by which the world is haunted, 

 appeals to its human affections ." 



" Once on a time, on a summer day, 

 When mowers were tossing the new-made hay, 

 A hawthorn-tree that so long had stood, 

 Its trunk was all gnarled and knotted wood, 

 And its bark half covered with lichen and moss, 

 Was cut down to make a new path across 

 The gentleman's lawn, where it sheltered so long, 

 The tomtit's nest, and the robin's song : 

 Woe is me ! Ah, woe is me, 

 A wood-sprite lived in that hawthorn-tree." 



Thus driven from her dwelling-place, the poor little 

 sprite wandered she knew not where, for her heart was 

 full of grief, and she thought by wandering to soothe the 



