INTRODUCTION. THE common opinion concerning the nymphs whom the ancients called Hamadryads, is more to the honour of trees than anything yet mentioned. It was thought that the fate of these nymphs had so near a dependence on some trees, more especially oaks, that they lived and died together. For this reason, they were extremely grateful to such persons as preserved those trees with which their being subsisted. A certain youth, being about to fell an oak, having, at the entreaty of the Hamadryad who inhabited it, preserved it in this manner, the nymph conceived a violent attachment to him, and they long lived together in the forest, happy in each other's society. But he, becoming weary of this simple life, returns to his old friends and associates in the city, which desertion throws the unfortunate Hamadryad into the most grievous despair. One day she chanced to spy her lover, who had wandered into the forest, and, casting herself at his feet, besought him not to forsake her; but, finding him inflexible, she passionately conjured Pan to prevent his departure, who deprived him of the use of his limbs. However, says the story, he was not so much a cripple but he made a shift to cut down the tree, and, consequently, to fell his mistress. A TALE OF AN OAK TREE. "Non si desto fin, che garrir le augelli, I. THE forest wide with axe's stroke is ringing, And echoes to the quick, sharp, busy sound; The giant oak, his form august slow swinging, With crashing weight, falls thundering to the ground; The beech with spreading arms lies low, And towering pine, and wavy birch, sink, bending to the blow. Through the reft branches streaming, The yellow beams are gleaming, Drinking the dew from herb and peeping flower, That in cool covert lay, Hid from the fervid ray, Until that hour. II. Relentless he had been around him lie Like haughty conqueror, o'er the battle plain, III. Before a beauteous tree the spoiler stood, Gazing upon the pendent branches waving, Where the slant beam of evening pours a flood Of glittering light, their graceful tendrils laving, Bowing and bending to the frolic air, Like some sweet, sportive child, all innocent of care. IV. He shakes his axe; and, triumphing, he cries- V. ..But now behind the western clouds to rest Sinks the red orb; and through the leafy shade Trembles the moon; and down, by toil opprest, To earth he falls, his couch her bosom made. VI. He sleeps. On moss, with violets overgrown, VII. So lay the beauteous boy of old, Who drew the crescent-queen, so cold, Down from her "inter-lunar" cave, In silver showers of light, a kiss to crave. VIII. What vision glides within the secret cell, Where swarming fancies, slumber-bound, retire? What voice harmonious, by some secret spell, Blends with the busy thoughts, and does the theme inspire? IX. What shadowy form, above the sleeper's brow, Breathing and fluttering like the summer breeze, So gently whispering? X. A form more soft than the silver ray, With a voice that is most sweet, Prompts his wild dream, in accents low. Falt'ring, melodious, as a silver stream-soft, melancholy "The wretch who drags the load of life- |