46 ENGLISH WOODS : A CONTRAST. 



It is noteworthy that there is little or no love of 

 woods as such in English poetry ; no fond mention 

 of them, and dwelling upon them. The muse of 

 Britain's rural poetry has none of the wide-eyeduess 

 and furtiveness of the sylvan creatures ; she is rather 

 a gentle, wholesome, slightly stupid divinity of the 

 fields. Milton sings the praises of 



" Arched walks of twilight groves." 



But his wood is a " drear wood," 



" The nodding horror of whose shady brows 

 Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger." 



Again : 



"very desolation dwells 

 By grots and caverns shagg'd with horrid shade." 



Shakespeare refers to the " ruthless, vast, and horrid 

 wood," a fit place for robbery, rapine, and murder. 

 Indeed, English poetry is pretty well colored with the 

 memory of the time when the woods were the hiding- 

 places of robbers and outlaws, and were the scenes 

 of all manner of dark deeds. The only thing I recall 

 in Shakespeare that gives a faint whiff of our forest 

 life occurs in " All 's Well That Ends Well," where 

 the clown says to Lafeu, " I am a woodland fellow, 

 sir, that always loved a great fire." That great fire 

 is American ; wood is too scarce in Europe. Francis 

 Iligginson wrote in 1630 : " New England may boast 

 of the element of fire more than all the rest ; for all 

 Europe is not able to afford to make so great firea 

 as New England. A poor servant, that is to possess 



