108 
THE YEW. 
TAXUS BACCATA. 
- 4 * The grave, dread thing, 
Men shiver when thou’rt named. 
* * » r 
Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, 
Cheerless, unsocial plant.” 
The infinite diversity observable in the works and ap¬ 
pearances of nature, has already been remarked. In 
proof of which the sylvan realm offers, perhaps, few 
stronger contrasts, certainly not in our country, than 
the light elegant tree we have just been considering, 
the true similitude of youth and gaiety, and the gloomy, 
funereal yew, the very sight of which makes us think 
■ “ Of graves, of worms, and epitaphs, 
And choose executors, and talk of wills.” 
And yet despite its sombre and mournful character, and 
the opprobrious epithets which poetry has heaped on it, 
it is a picturesque tree, and one of no inconsiderable 
