CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 



HOW THE FORESTS ARE WASTED 



O forest home in which the songbirds dwell 1 

 Th,e squirrel and the stag shall miss the spell 

 Of thy cool depths when summer's sun assails, 

 Nor more find shelter in thy shadowed vales. 



All will be silent ; echo wUl be dead ; 

 A field will lie where shifting shadows fled 

 Across the ground. The mattock and the plow 

 WiU take the place of Pan and Satyr now. 

 The timid deer, the spotted fawns at play. 

 From thy retreats will all be driven away. 



Farewell, old forest ; sacred crowns, farewell ! 

 Revered in letters and in art as well ; 

 Thy place becomes the scorn of every one, 

 Doomed now to burn beneath the summer sun. 

 All cry out insults as they pass thee by, 

 Upon the meji who caused thee thus to die ! 



Farewell, old oaks that once were wont to crown 



Our deeds of valor and of great renown ! 



O trees of Jupiter, Dordona's grove. 



How ingrate man repays thy treasure trove 



That first gave food that humankind might eat, 



And furnished shelter from the storm and heat. 



Pierre de Ronsard, 

 translated by Beistow Adams ; American Forestry, XVI. 244 



When our grandfathers came to America they found the 

 country so covered with forests that they had to cut and 

 burn the trees in order to obtain the ground on which to 

 raise their crops. The Eastern states could not haVe been 

 settled without clearing the land, and we cannot blame the 

 pioneers for doing under those circumstances that which 

 today would be very wrong. 



