Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1873-05-21

For the watehman.
Our Lecture on Trees. No. |.

BY }. MILTON srEAgSs.
The subject Of this lecture leads me back to
the scenery surrounding my childhood, sug-
gestive of my earliest aud freshest memo
ries, where life began as dream, without
anterior thought or memories the past
seeming dark nonentity dark oblivion.
was, lived, felt, and could tell MOTH
ing more. A little tiny child, walked out
on the strange looking earth and plucked
the first beautiful flower, whose impression
| retained in memory as inspiring sense
Of pleasure. | had indeed awakened as
from long, long dream, but | could not
tell if II we're life or the counterpart or
transcript Of living realities Ms childish
dreams were but charms Of things unseen,
of unknown or forgotten incidents. Only
the pleasurable emotions realized from their
vision remained, while the forms aud
beauties had dropped out of memory, and
made black night their covering. grew
in years, and still lived 10 little world
The house aud garden were the limit Of my
adventures, aud the surrounding wood was
the limit of my vision. There | saw the
sun come up in the cast as a wheel of fire
rolling through the sky, aud then go down
behind the western hills, and then the moon
and stars appeared and SO | learned the
difference between the day aud the night,
and to nc the circuit Of the sky limiting
my view, became the measure of great
world. 10 time | saw where the rainbow
stretched down its feet from the clouds and
spanned the circuit of my vision. aud
[ wondered if might 90 and sit down aud
live where those beautiful colors should be
the light Of my home
With these susceptioilities Of the visions
of childhood the impressions of memory so
vivid and charming, | can never forget the
dear old homestead AMI its primitive forests
covering all its surrounding hills. The axe
mans sturdy blows have cleared many of
them away, but there are yet enough re-
naming TO charm the heart of the true
lover Of nature In the ripper judgment Of
our manhood, we still go back for ages to
account for the origin of these lords Of the
forest, aud were it not for what we call
civilization, we should recognize these huge
old giants as monuments to last for count
less generations to come. With the ever
lasting hills and their forest towers is as
socated the genuine poetry of life
Our wayward iancies point the woods
as where the SYPHILIS sing, and solitude counts
the groves as temples for communion with
nature Birds sing nowhere so sweetly
as when hid in shady bowers, and the echoes
ofthe deep dark forests are the refrain Of the
night birds mournful lamentation. Where
are vernal flowers so besutiful as under the
shade of the gnarled old oak on the forest
border Where would be the vernal green
to beautiy our hills, iftrees should cease to
be their cherished ornaments2 Our sum.
mer days were burning transcripts Of a
fiery sky, iftrees with grateful shade should
cease to soften down the heated air. The
gloom Of autumn days would be gloom
indeed, If the rich colors Of tho fading
woods had not charm to ornament the
gloom, and tell of beauty on the face of
death. The weird sadness of the dying
year would surround us with a desolate
despair, if we did not know that the dear
old trees were things Of life, even amidst
the frosts Of winter, aud that the spring.
time would cl,the them yet again with cor
onals Of green.
Trees are not only memorials Of departed
years, but they live as records of events,
both beautiful and joyous, and DIRK and
sad. The old pear tree planted by Gov.
ernor stuyvesant, ia New York, certifes
bis good hope for the future Of the old
butVh colonJ y NHllc luo ChtfbSr oih VI
Connecticut, so long as itliyej, certified the
love of our own ancestors for chartered lib.
critics A passion flower may fade aud die
ere the grief Of its patron, whose hopes are
blighted, shall cease to darkeu the soul.
But the tree that is planted by the hand
of affection, shall overshadow the grave Of
the dead, and indicate the sacred shade be-
meath which its patron shall rest in hope.
Ia fact, trees have come to consecrated
use as ornaments of the places where the
dead repose. Indeed, they have served this
Office for long gone centuries. Lsten to
Gray 10 his elegy in a country churchysrd :;
a Beneath those ru sged sbas, that vee tees shade,
Whore heayes the turf in many a mouldering heap
| Each in his narrow cell forever laid
The rude freiathers Of tue hamlet sleep,
The very inspiration of this charming
but sad vision was gathered from the trees
adoruing this rural cemetery. Aud he
goes on
4" Por thee who, mindful Of the unhonorod dead,
| Dost In these lines their artess tale relate,
| II chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit should enquire thy fate
| IIapiy some hoary headed sw tin may say,
| "OH have We seen him at the peep Of dawn
| Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
| To meet the sun upon the upland Lawn.
| " There, at the foot Of yolder noddng beech,
That wreaths lts old fantastic roots So high
| Ills lstless leugh a. noon-tl would he stretch,
| And pore upUn the brook that babbles by.
| " Hard by yon lhcod, now milling AS Ia scorn.
| huttering his hayward fanoits he would rove
| Nov dropping wooful, wan, Ike one forlorn,
or eraIsd with care, OF crossed in hopeless love.
cone morn missed HIN on the 'eustoaed hill,
| Along the heath, and near his hyorite bssf
| Another eames nor yet beside the rll,
| Nor up the lawn, nor at the rood, was hei
| :" Tho next, III dirgos dire In sad array
SLOW through the ehHrol. way path him borne
| Approach aud read-fOr thou canst read the lay
iGravsd on q stone heneaih yon agad faorn."
A tree and the wood inspired his life, and
a thorn bush ornamented his grave.
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