Woodland Gleanings Part 2

Groves were planted to console at noon The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve The moonbeam sliding softly in between The sleeping leaves, is all the light he wants For meditation.

Indeed, no species of landscape is so fitted for meditation. The forest attracts the attention by its grandeur, and the park scene by its beauty; while the paths through copses, dells, and thickets, are too close, devious, interrupted, and often too beautiful to allow the mind to be at perfect ease. But the uniform sameness of the grove leaves the eye disengaged; and the feet wandering at pleasure, where they are confined by no path, want little direction. The mind, therefore, undisturbed, has only to retire within itself. Hence the philosopher, the devotee, the poet, all retreated to these quiet recesses; and,

from the world retired, Conversed with angels and immortal forms.

In cla.s.sic times, the grove was the haunt of G.o.ds; and in the days of Nature, before art had introduced a kind of combination against her, men had no idea of wors.h.i.+pping G.o.d in a temple made with hands. The _templum nemorale_ was the only temple he knew.

In the resounding wood, All vocal beings hymned their equal G.o.d.

And to this idea, indeed, one of the earliest forms of the artificial temple seems to have been indebted. Many learned men have thought the Gothic arch of our cathedral churches was an imitation of the natural grove. It arises from a lofty stem, or from two or three stems, if they be slender; which being bound together, and spreading in every direction, cover the whole roof with their ramifications. In the close recesses of the beechen grove, we find this idea the most complete. The lofty, narrow aisle--the pointed arch--the cl.u.s.tered pillar, whose parts separating without violence, diverge gradually to form the fretted roof--find there perhaps their earliest archetype. Bryant has wrought out this idea in a beautiful fragment, ent.i.tled "G.o.d's First Temples:"

The groves were G.o.d's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them,--ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems,--in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influences, That, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless Power And inaccessible Majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect G.o.d's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised! Let me, at least, Here in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn--thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in his ear.

Father, thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns; thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun, Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, And shot towards heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches, till at last they stood, As now they stand, ma.s.sy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble wors.h.i.+pper to hold Communion with his Maker. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp or pride;--no silks Rustle, no jewels s.h.i.+ne, nor envious eyes Encounter; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of thy fair works. But thou art here--thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music;--thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, Comes, scarcely felt;--the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee.

Here is continual wors.h.i.+p;--nature, here, In the tranquillity that thou dost love, Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Pa.s.ses; and yon clear spring, that, 'midst its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak-- By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated--not a prince, In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves with which Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mould, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe.

My heart is awed within me, when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me--the perpetual work Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed For ever. Written on thy works, I read The lesson of thy own eternity.

Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again, How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, Youth presses--ever gay and beautiful youth, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly than their ancestors Moulder beneath them. O, there is not lost One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch-enemy Death--yea, seats himself Upon the sepulchre, and blooms and smiles, And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From thine own bosom, and shall have no end.

There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the h.o.a.ry trees and rocks Around them;--and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pa.s.s life thus.

But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and, in thy presence, rea.s.sure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The pa.s.sions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink, And tremble, and are still. O G.o.d! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods, And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great Deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities;--who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by?

O, from these sterner aspects of thy face, Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And, to the beautiful order of thy works, Learn to conform the order of our lives.

We will conclude this Introduction by recommending the reader, in the words of the poet, to enjoy the sweet calmness of the Woodland retreat:

If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows that thou would'st forget-- If thou would'st read a lesson that will keep Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep, Go to the woods and hills!--no tears Dim the sweet look that nature wears.

Stranger, if thou hast learnt a truth, which needs Experience more than reason, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast known Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares, To tire thee of it,--enter this wild wood, And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze, That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men.

And made thee loathe thy life. The primal curse Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth, But not in vengeance. Misery is wed To guilt. And hence these shades are still the abodes Of undissembled gladness: the thick roof Of green and stirring branches is alive And musical with birds, that sing and sport In wantonness of spirit; while, below, The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect, Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the glade Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam That waked them into life. Even the green trees Partake the deep contentment: as they bend To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky Looks in and sheds a blessing on the scene.

Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy Existence, than the winged plunderer That sucks its sweets. The ma.s.sy rocks themselves, The old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees, That lead from knoll to knoll, a causey rude, Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots, With all their earth upon them; twisting high Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet Sends forth glad sounds, and, tripping o'er its bed Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, Seems with continuous laughter to rejoice In its own being. Softly tread the marge, Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren That dips her bill in water. The cool wind, That stirs the stream in play shall come to thee, Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pa.s.s Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

Bryant.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ALDER-TREE.]

THE ALDER-TREE.

[_Alnus._[A] Nat. Ord.--_Amentiferae_; Linn.--_Monoec. Tetra._]

[A] _Generic characters._ Scales of the barren catkins, 3-lobed, 3-flowered. Perianth 4-cleft. Scales of the fertile catkin ovate, 2-flowered, coriaceous, persistent. Styles 2, parallel, setiform, deciduous; stigma simple. Fruit a nut, ovate, 2-celled. Kernel solitary, ovate, acute. Name, Celtic, from _al_, and _lan_, a river bank.

The Common Alder (_A. glutinosa_), is the most aquatic of European trees. It grows to the height of fifty or sixty feet, in favourable situations by the sides of streams, and is a somewhat picturesque tree in its ramification as well as its foliage. It is nearly related, in nature rather than in form, to the willow tribe; it is more picturesque than the latter, and perhaps the most so of any of the aquatic species, except the weeping willow. Gilpin says, that if we would see the Alder in perfection, we must follow the banks of the Mole, in Surrey, through the sweet vales of Dorking and Mickleham, into the groves of Esher. The Mole, indeed, is far from being a beautiful river; it is a silent and sluggish stream: but what beauty it has it owes greatly to the Alder, which everywhere fringes its meadows, and in many places forms very pleasing scenes; especially in the vale between Box Hill and the high grounds of Norbury Park. Spenser probably once reposed under the shade of these trees, as he mentions them in his "Colin Clout's come home again."

One day, quoth he, I sate, as was my trade, Under the foot of Mole, that mountain h.o.r.e, Keeping my sheep among the cooly shade Of the green Alders on the Mulla sh.o.r.e.

Some of the largest Alders in England grow in the Bishop of Durham's park, at Bishop Auckland. In speaking of these, Gilpin remarks, that "the generality of trees acquire picturesque beauty by age; but it is not often that they are suffered to attain this picturesque period. Some use is commonly found for them long before that time. The oak falls for the greater purposes of man, and the Alder is ready to supply a variety of his smaller wants. An old tree, therefore, of any kind is a curiosity; and even an Alder, such as those at Bishop Auckland, when dignified by age, makes a respectable figure."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Specific character of A. glutinosa. Common Alder._ Leaves roundish, cuneate, waved, serrate, glutinous, downy at the branching of the veins beneath. A moderately-sized tree, with rugged bark, and crooked, spreading, smooth branches: barren catkins long, pendulous; fertile ones short, oval. Flowers in March.]

The Alder grows naturally in Europe from Lapland to Gibraltar, in Asia from the White Sea to Mount Caucasus, and in the north of Africa, as well as being indigenous in England. The flowers bloom in March and April; they have no gay tints or beauty to recommend them, and consequently afford pleasure only to the botanist or the curious observer of nature. The leaves begin to open about the 7th of April, and when fully expanded are of a deep dull green. The bark being smooth and of a purplish hue, the tree has an agreeable effect among others in all kinds of plantations of the watery tribe.

The Alder must have grown to a great size in days of yore; for Virgil speaks of vessels made of this material:

When hollow Alders first the waters tried.

And again:

And down the rapid Po light Alders glide.

Ovid also tells us that

Trees rudely hollowed did the waves sustain, Ere s.h.i.+ps in triumph ploughed the watery main.

Abroad this tree is raised from seed, which is decidedly the best mode, and secures the finest specimens; though in this country they are generally propagated by layers or truncheons. The best time for planting the latter, is in February or March; the truncheons being sharpened at the end, the ground should be loosened by thrusting an iron crow into it, to prevent the bark from being torn off; and they should be planted at the least two feet deep. When cultivated by layers, the planting should take place in October, and they will then be ready to transplant in twelve months' time.

The Alder is usually planted as coppice-wood, to be cut down every five or six years, for conversion into charcoal, which is preferred in making gunpowder. The bark on the young wood is powerfully astringent, and is employed by tanners; and the young shoots are used for dyeing red, brown, and yellow; and in combination with copperas, to dye black. It is greatly cultivated in Flanders and Holland for piles, for which purpose it is invaluable, as when constantly under water, or in moist and boggy situations, it becomes hardened, black as ebony, and will last for ages.

On this account it is also very serviceable in strengthening the embankments of rivers or ca.n.a.ls; and while the roots and trunks are preventing the encroachment of the stream, they throw out branches which may be cut for poles every fifth or sixth year, especially if pruned of superfluous shoots in the spring.

As Alders in the spring, their boles extend, And heave so fiercely that the bark they rend.

Virgil, _ecl._ x.

Vitruvius informs us, that the mora.s.ses about Ravenna were piled with this timber to build upon; and Evelyn says that it was used in the foundations of Ponte Rialto, over the Grand Ca.n.a.l at Venice. The wood is also valuable for various domestic purposes.

Besides the common Alder there are introduced at least six other species:--

1. _A. Glutinosa_, already described.

2. _Emarginata_, leaves nearly round, wedge-shaped, and edged with green.

3. _Laciniata_, leaves oblong and pinnatifid, with the lobes acute.

4. _Quercifolia_, leaves sinuated, with the lobes obtuse.

5. _Oxyacanthoefolia_, leaves sinuated and lobed; smaller than those of the preceding variety, and somewhat resembling the common hawthorn.

6. _Macrocarpa_, leaves and fruit larger than those of the species.

7. _Foliis variegatis_, leaves variegated.