A woode untoucht of old was growing there,
Of thicke set trees, whose boughs spreading and faire,
Meeting obscured the enclosed aire,
And made darke shades exiling Phaebus rayes.
There no rude Fawne, nor wanton Silvan playes,
No Nimph disports, but cruell Deityes
Claim barbarous rites, and bloody sacrifice:
Each tree's defil'd with humane blood: if wee
Beleeve traditions of antiquitie,
No bird dares light upon those hallowed bowes:
No beasts make there their dennes: no wind there blowes,
Nor lightning falls: a sad religious awe
The quiet trees unstirr'd by wind doe draw.
Blacke water currents from darke fountaines flow:
The gods unpolisht Images doe know
No arte, but plaine and formelesse trunkes they are.
Their mosse, and mouldinesse procures a feare:
The common figures of knowne Deities
Are not so fear'd: not knowing what God tis
Makes him more awfull: by relation
The shaken earths darke cavernes oft did grone:
Fall'n Yew trees often of themselves would rise:
With seeming fire oft flam'd th'unburned trees:
And winding dragons the cold oakes imbrace:
None give neere worship to that balefull place;
The people leave it to the Gods alone.
When blacke night reignes, or Phaebus gilds the noone,
The Priest himselfe trembles, afraid to spie
Or finde this woods tutelar Deitie.
This wood he bids them fell: not standing farre
From off their worke: untoucht in former warre,
Among the other bared hills it stands
Of a thicke growth; the souldiers valiant hands
Trembled to strike, moov'd with the majestie,
And thinke the axe from off the sacred tree
Rebounding backe would their owne bodies wound:
Th'amazement of his men when Caesar found,
In his bold hand himselfe an hatchet tooke,
And first of all assaults a loftie oake;
And having wounded the religious tree,
Let no man feare to fell this wood (quoth he)
The guilt of this offence let Caesar beare.
The souldiers all obey, not voide of feare,
But ballancing the Gods, and Caesars frowne.
The knottie Holmes, the tall wild Ashes downe,
Joves sacred Oake, ship building Alder falles,
And Cypresse worne at great mens funeralls
Loosing their leaves, are forst t'admit the day;
The falling trees so thicke each other stay.
The Gaules lament to see the woods destroy'd:
But the besieged townesmen all orejoy'd
Hope that the wronged gods will vengeance take;
But gods oft spare the guiltiest men, and make
Poore wretches onely feele their vengefull hand.
When wood enough was fell'd, waines they command
From every part; plowmen their seasons loose,
Whilst in this worke souldiers their teames dispose.
Of thicke set trees, whose boughs spreading and faire,
Meeting obscured the enclosed aire,
And made darke shades exiling Phaebus rayes.
There no rude Fawne, nor wanton Silvan playes,
No Nimph disports, but cruell Deityes
Claim barbarous rites, and bloody sacrifice:
Each tree's defil'd with humane blood: if wee
Beleeve traditions of antiquitie,
No bird dares light upon those hallowed bowes:
No beasts make there their dennes: no wind there blowes,
Nor lightning falls: a sad religious awe
The quiet trees unstirr'd by wind doe draw.
Blacke water currents from darke fountaines flow:
The gods unpolisht Images doe know
No arte, but plaine and formelesse trunkes they are.
Their mosse, and mouldinesse procures a feare:
The common figures of knowne Deities
Are not so fear'd: not knowing what God tis
Makes him more awfull: by relation
The shaken earths darke cavernes oft did grone:
Fall'n Yew trees often of themselves would rise:
With seeming fire oft flam'd th'unburned trees:
And winding dragons the cold oakes imbrace:
None give neere worship to that balefull place;
The people leave it to the Gods alone.
When blacke night reignes, or Phaebus gilds the noone,
The Priest himselfe trembles, afraid to spie
Or finde this woods tutelar Deitie.
This wood he bids them fell: not standing farre
From off their worke: untoucht in former warre,
Among the other bared hills it stands
Of a thicke growth; the souldiers valiant hands
Trembled to strike, moov'd with the majestie,
And thinke the axe from off the sacred tree
Rebounding backe would their owne bodies wound:
Th'amazement of his men when Caesar found,
In his bold hand himselfe an hatchet tooke,
And first of all assaults a loftie oake;
And having wounded the religious tree,
Let no man feare to fell this wood (quoth he)
The guilt of this offence let Caesar beare.
The souldiers all obey, not voide of feare,
But ballancing the Gods, and Caesars frowne.
The knottie Holmes, the tall wild Ashes downe,
Joves sacred Oake, ship building Alder falles,
And Cypresse worne at great mens funeralls
Loosing their leaves, are forst t'admit the day;
The falling trees so thicke each other stay.
The Gaules lament to see the woods destroy'd:
But the besieged townesmen all orejoy'd
Hope that the wronged gods will vengeance take;
But gods oft spare the guiltiest men, and make
Poore wretches onely feele their vengefull hand.
When wood enough was fell'd, waines they command
From every part; plowmen their seasons loose,
Whilst in this worke souldiers their teames dispose.