That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth
(Since which I number threescore winters pass'd)
A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps,
As now, and with excoriate forks deform,
Relics of ages! Could a mind, imbued
With truth from Heaven, created thing adore,
I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee.
It seems idolatry with some excuse,
When our forefather Druids in their Oaks
Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet
Unpurified by an authentic act
Of amnesty, the meed of blood Divine,
Loved not the light; but, gloomy, into gloom
Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste
Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled.
Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball,
Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay,
Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd
The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down
Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs,
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp.
But Fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains
Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil
Design'd thy cradle; and a skipping deer,
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared
The soft receptacle, in which, secure,
Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through.
So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can,
Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search
Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss,
Sifts half the pleasure of sweet life away I
Thou fell'st mature; and in the loamy clod,
Swelling with vegetative force instinct,
Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins,
Now stars; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact;
A leaf succeeded, and another leaf;
And, all the elements thy puny growth
Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig.
Who lived, when thou wast such? O, couldst thou speak,
As in Dodona once thy kindred trees
Oracular, I would not curious ask
The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth
Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past.
By thee I might correct, erroneous oft,
The clock of history, facts and events
Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts
Recovering, and misstated setting right--
Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again!
Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods;
And Time hath made thee what thou art--a cave
For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs
O'erhung the champaign; and the numerous flocks
That grazed it, stood beneath that ample cope
Uncrowded, yet safe-sheltered from the storm.
No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived
Thy popularity, and art become
(Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing
Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth.
While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd
Of treeship--first a seedling hid in grass;
Then twig; then sapling; and, as century roll'd
Slow after century, a giant bulk
Of girth enormous, with moss-cushioned root
Upheaved above the soil, and sides emboss'd
With prominent wens globose--till at the last
The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict
On other mighty ones, found also thee.
What exhibitions various hath the world
Witness'd of mutability in all
That we account most durable below!
Change is the diet on which all subsist,
Created changeable, and change at last
Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat
Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam
Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds--
Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought,
Invigorate by turns the springs of life
In all that live--plant, animal, and man--
And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads,
Fine passing thought, ev'n in her coarsest works,
Delight in agitation, yet sustain
The force that agitates, not unimpaired;
But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause
Of their best tone their dissolution owe.
Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still
The great and little of thy lot, thy growth
From almost nullity into a state
Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence,
Slow, into such magnificent decay.
Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly
Could shake thee to the root--and time has been
When tempests could not. At thy firmest age
Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents,
That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the deck
Of some flagg'd admiral; and tortuous arms,
The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present
To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold,
Warp'd into tough knee-timber,[1] many a load!
But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier days
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply
The bottomless demands of contest, waged
For senatorial honours. Thus to Time
The task was left to whittle thee away
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge,
Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more,
Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved,
Achieved a labour, which had far and wide,
By man perform'd, made all the forest ring.
Embowell'd now, and of thy ancient self
Possessing naught but the scoop'd rind, that seems
A huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink,
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root--
Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidst
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite.
Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock,
A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs,
Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp
The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect.
So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid;
Though all the superstructure, by the tooth
Pulverised of venality, a shell
Stands now, and semblance only of itself!
Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them off
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild
With bow and shaft have burn'd them. Some have left
A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white;
And some, memorial none where once they grew.
Tet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth
Proof not contemptible of what she can,
Even where death predominates. The spring
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force,
Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood,
So much thy juniors, who their birth received
Half a millennium since the date of thine.
But since, although well qualified by age
To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice
May be expected from thee, seated here
On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
Or prompter, save the scene--I will perform,
Myself the oracle, and will discourse
In my own ear such matter as I may.
One man alone, the father of us all,
Drew not his life from woman; never gazed,
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw,
On all around him; learn'd not by degrees,
Nor owed articulation to his ear;
But, moulded by his Maker into man
At once, upstood intelligent, survey'd
All creatures, with precision understood
Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd
To each his name significant, and, fill'd
With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaven,
In praise harmonious, the first air he drew.
He was excused the penalties of dull
Minority. No tutor charged his hand
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind
With problems. History, not wanted yet,
Lean'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course
Eventful should supply her with a theme.
[1] Knee-timber is found in the crooked arms of Oak, which, by reason of
their distortion, are easily adjusted to the angle formed where the deck
and the ship's sides meet.
Montgomery inscribed the following lines under a drawing of the Yardley
Oak, celebrated in the preceding quotation from Cowper:--
The sole survivor of a race
Of giant Oaks, where once the wood
Bang with the battle or the chase,
In stern and lonely grandeur stood.
From age to age it slowly spread
Its gradual boughs to sun and wind;
From age to age its noble head
As slowly wither'd and declined.
A thousand years are like a day,
When fled;--no longer known than seen;
This tree was doom'd to pass away,
And be as if it _ne'er_ had been;--
But mournful Cowper, wandering nigh,
For rest beneath its shadow came,
When, lo! the voice of days gone by
Ascended from its hollow frame.
O that the Poet had reveal'd
The words of those prophetic strains,
Ere death the eternal mystery seal'd
----Yet in his song the Oak remains.
And fresh in undecaying prime,
_There_ may it live, beyond the power
Of storm and earthquake, Man and Time,
Till Nature's conflagration-hour.
There are various opinions as to the best mode of rearing Oak-trees; we
shall here state that which Evelyn considered the best. In raising
Oak-trees from acorns sown in the seminary, a proper situation should be
prepared by the time the seeds are ripe. The soil should be loamy,
fresh, and in good heart. This should be well prepared by digging,
breaking the clods, clearing it of weeds, stones, &c. The acorns should
be collected from the best trees; and if allowed to remain until they
fall off, they will germinate the better. Sow the acorns in beds about
three inches asunder, press them down gently with the spade, and rake
the earth over the acorns until it is raised about two inches above
them. The plants will not appear in less than two months; and here they
may be allowed to remain for two years at least, without any further
care than keeping them free from weeds, and occasionally refreshing them
with water in dry weather.
When the plants are two years old they will be of a proper size for
planting out, and the best way to do this is by trenching or ploughing
as deeply as the soil will allow. The sets should be planted about the
end of October. This operation should be commenced by striking the
plants carefully out of the seed-bed, shortening the tap-root, and
topping off part of the side shoots, that there may be an equal degree
of strength in the stem and the root. After planting they should be well
protected from cattle, and, if possible, from hares and rabbits. They
must also be kept clear from weeds.
Mr. Evelyn was of opinion, that Oaks thus raised will yield the best
timber. And Dr. Hunter remarks, that the extensive plantations which
were made towards the end of the last century, were made more with a
view to shade and ornament than to the propagation of good timber; and
with this object the owners planted their trees generally too old, so
that many of the woods, when they come to be felled, will greatly
disappoint the expectations of the purchaser.
Oaks are about eighteen years old before they yield any fruit, a
peculiarity which seems to indicate the great longevity of the tree; for
"soon ripe and soon rotten," is an adage that holds generally throughout
the organic world. The Oak requires sixty or seventy years to attain a
considerable size; but it will go on increasing and knowing no decay for
centuries, and live for more than 1000 years.
In reference to the durability of Oak timber when used in ship-building,
the following statement has been elicited by a Select Committee
appointed to inquire into the cause of the increased number of
shipwrecks. The Sub-Committee addressed a letter to the Lords of the
Admiralty, who consulted the officers of the principal dock-yards, and
returned the following abstract account of the officers of the yards'
opinion on the durability of Oak timber:--
---------------+-----------------------+------------+----------+
| When used for Floors | When used | |
| and Lower Futtocks |for planking|When used |
OAK | only. | above | for the |
TIMBER. +------------+----------+ light | Upper |
| In |Afore and | watermark. | Timbers. |
| Midships. | Abaft. | | |
---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------|
|From 100 to |From 20 to| From 20 to |From 30 to|
English. | 24 years. | 12 years.| 12 years. | 15 years.|
| Average of | | | |
| yards 42 | - 15 - | - 16 - | - 20 - |
---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------|
| From 30 to |From 15 to| From 12 to |From 15 to|
Of the growth | 9 years. | 8 years. | 4 years. | 4 years. |
of the North | Average of | | | |
of Europe. | yards 18 | - 10 - | - 9 - | - 10 - |
---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------|
Of the growth | | | | |
of the British | | | | |
North American | From 30 to |From 15 to| From 12 to |From 16 to|
Colonies, | 5 years. | 3 years. | 2 years. | 2 years. |
generally | Average of | | | |
known as Quebec| yards 17 | - 9 - | - 9 - | - 11 - |
white Oak. | | | | |
---------------+------------+----------+------------+----------+
[Illustration: THE ORIENTAL PLANE.]
THE ORIENTAL PLANE.
[_Platanus[P] orientalis._ Nat. Ord.--_Platanaceæ_; Linn.--_Monoec.
Polya._]
[P] _Platanus. Flowers_ unisexual, the barren and fertile upon one
plant, disposed many together, and densely, in globular catkins.
_Pistils_ numerous, approximately pairs. _Ovary_ 1-celled, including 1-2
pendulous ovules. _Stigmas_ 2, long, filiform, glandular in the upper
part. _Fruit_ autricle, densely covered with articulated hairs,
including one pendulous, oblong, exalbuminous seed.
The Oriental Plane is a native of Greece, and of other parts of the
Levant; it is found in Asia Minor, Persia, and eastward to Cashmere; and
likewise in Barbary, in the south of Italy, and in Sicily, although
probably not indigenous in these countries. It appears to have been
introduced into England about the middle of the sixteenth century; but
seems not to have been propagated to the extent it deserves, even as an
ornamental tree; and the specimens now in existence are neither very
numerous, nor are they distinguished for their dimensions.
In the East, the Oriental Plane grows to the height of seventy feet and
upwards, with widely spreading branches and a massive trunk; forming
altogether a majestic tree. The trunk is covered with a smooth bark,
which scales off every year in large irregular patches, often producing
a pleasing variety of tint. The bark of the younger branches is of a
dark brown, inclined to a purple colour. The leaves are alternate, about
seven inches long and eight broad, deeply cut into five segments, and
the two outer ones slightly cut into two more. These segments are
acutely indented on their borders, each having a strong midrib, with
numerous lateral veins. The upper side of the leaves is a deep green,
the under side pale. The petioles are rather long, with an enlargement
at the base which covers the nascent buds. The catkins which contain the
seed are of a globular form, and from two to five in number, on axillary
peduncles; they vary greatly in size, and are found from four inches to
scarcely one in circumference. The flowers are very minute. The balls,
which are about the size of walnuts, and fastened together often in
pairs like chain-shot, appear before the leaves in spring, and the seed
ripens late in autumn; these are small, not unlike the seed of the
lettuce, and are surrounded or enveloped in a bristly down.
[Illustration: Leaves and Globes of Flowers of _P. orientalis_.]
Of the Oriental Plane Loudon remarks, "As an ornamental tree, no one
which attains so large a size has a finer appearance, standing singly,
or in small groups, upon a lawn, where there is room to allow its lower
branches, which stretch themselves horizontally to a considerable
distance, gracefully to bend toward the ground, and turn up at their
extremities. The peculiar characteristics of the tree, indeed, is the
combination which it presents of majesty and gracefulness; an expression
which is produced by the massive, and yet open and varied character, of
its head, the bending of its branches, and their feathering to the
ground. In this respect it is greatly superior to the lime-tree, which
comes nearest to it in the general character of the head; but which
forms a much more compact and lumpish mass of foliage in summer, and, in
winter, is so crowded with branches and spray, as to prevent, in a great
measure, the sun from penetrating through them. The head of the Oriental
Plane, during sunshine, often abounds in what painters call flickering
lights; the consequence of the branches of the head separating
themselves into what may be called horizontal undulating strata--or, as
it is called in artistic phraseology, tufting--easily put in motion by
the wind, and through openings in which the rays of the sun penetrate,
and strike on the foliage below. The tree is by no means so suitable, as
most others, for an extensive park, or for imitations of forest scenery;
but, from its mild and gentle expression, its usefulness for shade in
summer, and for admitting the sun in winter, it is peculiarly adapted
for pleasure-grounds, and, where there is room, for planting near houses
and buildings. For the latter purpose, it is particularly well adapted
even in winter, for the colour of the bark of the trunk, which has a
grayish white tint, is not unlike the colour of some kinds of freestone.
The colour of the foliage, in dry soil, is also of a dull grayish green;
which, receiving the light in numerous horizontal tuftings, readily
harmonizes with the colour of stone walls. It appears, also, not to be
much injured by smoke, since there are trees of it of considerable size
in the very heart of London."
The Oriental Plane thrives best on a light free soil, moist, but not wet
at bottom; and the situation should be sheltered, but not shaded or
crowded by other trees. It will scarcely grow in strong clays and on
elevated exposed places; nor will it thrive in places where the
lime-tree does not prosper. It may be propagated by seeds, layers, or
cuttings. The general practice is to sow the seeds in autumn, covering
them over as lightly as those of the birch and alder, or beating them in
with the back of the spade, and not covering them at all, and protecting
the beds with litter to exclude the frost. The plants will come up the
following year, and will be fit, after two years' growth, to run into
nursery lines; from whence they may be planted into their permanent
stations in two or three years, according to the size considered
necessary. The growth of this tree is very rapid, attaining in the
climate of London, under favourable circumstances, the height of thirty
feet in ten years, and arriving at the height of sixty or seventy feet
in thirty years. The longevity of this tree was supposed, by the
ancients, to be considerable; and there are few old trees in this
country. One, still existing at Lee Court, in Kent, was celebrated in
1683 for its age and magnitude. Some of the largest trees in the
neighbourhood of London are at Mount Grove, Hampstead, where they are
between seventy and eighty feet in height; and in the grounds of Lambeth
Palace, there is one ninety feet high, with a trunk of four and a half
feet in diameter.
The Oriental Plane was held by the Greeks sacred to Helen; and the
virgins of Sparta are represented by Theocritus as claiming homage for
it, saying, "Reverence me! I am the tree of Helen." It was so admired by
Xerxes, that Ælian and other authors inform us, he halted his prodigious
army near one of them an entire day, during its march for the invasion
of Greece; and, on leaving, covered it with gold, gems, necklaces,
scarfs, and bracelets, and an infinity of riches. He likewise caused its
figure to be stamped on a medal of gold, which he afterwards wore
continually about him.
Among many remarkable Plane-trees recorded by Pliny, he mentions one in
Lycia, which had a cave or hollow in the trunk that measured eighty-one
feet in circumference. In this hollow were stone seats, covered with
moss; and there, during the time of his consulship, Licinius Mutianus,
with eighteen of his friends, was accustomed to dine and sup! Its
branches spread to such an amazing extent, that this single tree
appeared like a grove; and this consul, says Pliny, chose rather to
sleep in the hollow cavity of this tree, than to repose in his marble
chamber, where his bed was richly wrought with curious needlework, and
o'ercanopied with beaten gold. Pausanias, also, who lived about the
middle of the second century, records a Plane-tree of remarkable size
and beauty in Arcadia, which was then supposed to have been planted by
the hands of Menelaus, the husband of Helen, which would make the age of
the tree about thirteen hundred years.
At a later period magnificent examples of this umbrageous tree continued
to flourish in Greece, and many of these are still existing. One of the
most celebrated is at Buyukdère (or the Great Valley), about thirty
miles from Constantinople, which M. de Candolle conjectured to be more
than two thousand years old; when measured, in 1831, by Dr. Walsh, it
was found to be one hundred and fifty-one feet in circumference at the
base, and the diameter of its head covered a space of one hundred and
thirty feet. Some doubt, however, seems to exist as to whether it should
be considered as a single tree, or as a number of individuals which have
sprung from a decayed stock, and become united at the base. The hollow
contained within the stem of this enormous tree, we are told, affords a
magnificent tent to the Seraskier and his officers, when the Turks
encamp in this valley.
Among the Turks, the Planes are preserved with a devoted and religious
tenderness.
[Illustration: THE OCCIDENTAL OR AMERICAN PLANE.]
THE OCCIDENTAL OR AMERICAN PLANE.
[_Platanus occidentalis._ Nat. Ord.--_Platanaceæ_; Linn.--_Monoec.
Polya._]
The American or Western Plane is found over an immense area in North
America, comprising the Atlantic and western states, and extending
beyond the Mississippi. In the Atlantic states, this tree is commonly
known by the name of button-wood; and sometimes, in Virginia, by that of
water-beech, from its preferring moist localities, "where the soil is
loose, deep, and fertile." On the banks of the Ohio, and in the states
of Kentucky and Tennessee, it is commonly called sycamore, and sometimes
plane-tree. The button-tree is, however, the name by which this tree is
most generally known in America.
The Western Plane was first introduced into England about 1630, and was
afterwards so generally planted, in consequence of its easy propagation
by cuttings and rapid growth, that it soon became more common than _P.
orientalis_. This tree is now, however, rare in this country, from the
greater number having been killed by a severe frost in May 1809, and by
the severe winter of 1813-4.
The American Plane, in magnitude and general appearance, closely
resembles the oriental plane. The one species, however, can always be
distinguished from the other by the following characters:--In the
Oriental Plane, the leaves are smaller and much more deeply lobed than
in the Western tree, and the petioles of the leaves, which in the
Oriental species are green, in the American tree are purplish-red; the
fruit, or ball-shaped catkins, also, of the Western Plane, are
considerably larger, and not so rough externally as those of the other.
The bark is said to scale off in larger pieces, and the wood to be more
curiously veined. In all other respects, the descriptive particulars of
both trees are the same. According to Michang, the Western Plane is "the
loftiest and largest tree of the United States." In 1802, he saw one
growing on the banks of the Ohio, whose girth at four feet from the
ground, was 47 feet, or nearly 16 feet in diameter. This tree, which
showed no symptoms of decay, but on the contrary exhibited a rich
foliage and vigorous vegetation, began to ramify at about 20 feet from
the ground, a stem of no mean length, but short in comparison to many
large trees of this species that he met with, whose boles towered to a
height of 60 or 70 feet without a single branch. Even in England,
specimens of the Western Plane, of no great age, are to be met with 100
feet in height. The rate of growth of _P. occidentalis_, when placed
near water, is so rapid, that in ten years it will attain the height of
forty feet; and a tree in the Palace Garden at Lambeth, near a pond, in
twenty years had attained the height of eighty feet, with a trunk eight
feet in circumference at three feet from the ground, and the diameter of
the head forty-eight feet. This was in 1817.--(See Neill's _Hort. Tour_,
p. 9.)
As a picturesque tree, Gilpin places the Occidental Plane after the oak,
the ash, the elm, the beech, and the hornbeam, which he considers as
deciduous trees of the first rank; saying of both species of Platanus,
that, though neither so beautiful nor so characteristic as the
first-named trees, they are yet worth the notice of the eye of the
admirer of the picturesque.
[Illustration: Leaves and Flowers of _P. occidentalis_.]