In a MS. of the late Rev. Mr. Gough, of Shrewsbury, it is related, that one Thomas Elkes, of Middle, in Shropshire, being guardian to his eldest brother’s child, who was young, and stood in his way to a considerable estate, hired a poor boy to entice him into a corn field to gather flowers, and meeting them, sent the poor boy home, took his nephew in his arms, and carried him to a pond at the other end of the field, into which he put the child, and there left him. The child being missed, and inquiry made after him, Elkes fled, and took the road to London; the neighbours sent two horsemen in pursuit of him, who passing along the road near South Mims, in Hertfordshire, saw two ravens sitting on a cock of hay making an unusual noise, and pulling the hay about with their beaks, on which they went to the place, and found Elkes asleep under the hay. He said, that these _two ravens_ had followed him from the time he did the fact. He was brought to Shrewsbury, tried, condemned, and hung in chains on Knockinheath. * * * * * THE LAST TREE OF THE FOREST. Whisper, thou tree, thou lonely tree, One, where a thousand stood! Well might proud tales be told by thee, Last of the solemn wood! Dwells there no voice amidst thy boughs, With leaves yet darkly green? Stillness is round, and noontide glows-- Tell us what thou hast seen! “I have seen the forest-shadows lie Where now men reap the corn; I have seen the kingly chase rush by, Through the deep glades at morn. “With the glance of many a gallant spear And the wave of many a plume, And the bounding of a hundred deer It hath lit the woodland’s gloom. “I have seen the knight and his train ride past, With his banner borne on high; O’er all my leaves there was brightness cast From his gleamy panoply. “The pilgrim at my feet hath laid His palm-branch ’midst the flowers, And told his beads, and meekly pray’d, Kneeling at vesper-hours. “And the merry men of wild and glen, In the green array they wore, Have feasted here with the red wine’s cheer, And the hunter-songs of yore. “And the minstrel, resting in my shade, Hath made the forest ring With the lordly tales of the high crusade, Once loved by chief and king. “But now the noble forms are gone, That walk’d the earth of old; The soft wind hath a mournful tone, The sunny light looks cold. “There is no glory left us now like the glory with the dead:-- I would that where they slumber low, My latest leaves were shed.” Oh! thou dark tree, thou lonely tree, That mournest for the past! A peasant’s home in thy shade I see, Embower’d from every blast. A lovely and a mirthful sound Of laughter meets mine ear; For the poor man’s children sport around On the turf, with nought to fear.