Beneath that yew tree’s shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering 
heap, 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
GRAY. 
There is in every plant something which 
either attracts or repels us. The yew tree is 
considered by all nations to be the emblem 
of sorrow. Plants are said to die under its 
shade, and if the weary traveller should sleep 
under its umbrageous branches his head be¬ 
comes affected, and he soon feels violently 
ill. It also exhausts the earth which yields it 
nourishment. Our ancestors, guided by a 
natural sentiment, thought it a fit resident in 
the cemetery, and so destined it to o’ershade 
the tomb. They used its wood for bows, 
lances, and cross-bows; and the Greeks also 
employed it for the same purposes. For a 
long time it appeared in our gardens, where 
it was trained in the most fantastic forms; 
but now its culture is entirely abandoned. In 
Switzerland the peasants have a great venera¬ 
tion for it; they call it “William’s bow,” and 
its branches are preserved from spoliation. 
In the gardens of Holland, which owe every- 
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