In the sixth Eclogue[1] Winken speaks of the "mournful cypress" and "sad widowing yew;" widowing, I suppose, because of its presumed fatal effect on any shepherd who might be tempted to sleep in its shape. "Yew," wrote Dodoens, in his Historie of Plants,[2] "is not profitable for man's bodie, for it is so hurtfull and venemous that such as doe but only sleepe under the shadow thereof become sicke, and sometimes they die, especially when it bloweth: in Gascoigne it is most dangerous." The epithet "sad," applied to the cypress, has become proper from the association of the tree with oriental burial-places, and with our own cemeteries. Perhaps, originally, it may have been planted by graves as a type of immortality, for the wood is very long-lasting, and I have seen Theophrastus quoted to the effect that the roofs of some ancient temples became famous because they were made of it; the timbers of the rafters being everlasting, and free from rot and cobweb and other evils to which wood generally is liable.
Of bridal flowers we have a lengthy list in the stirring account of one of the many watery weddings in which the reader of the Polyolbion is supposed to interest himself, that of Tame and Isis.[3] For the adornment of the bridegroom, wild blossoms were chosen as being in keeping with his manly nature; but all the spoils of the garden were woven into the "anadems"[4] and other devices which were to do honour to the bride. I do not give the passage at length because, though there is no doubt one might distil significance from every bud that was pressed into the service of "the happy pair," Drayton does not give any hints to help one, and the nymphs and naiads seem to have used whatever came to hand, merely making the distinction I have named between wild and cultivated flowers. It may be well, however, to record the names of the herbs that were strewn about on the occasion by the bridesmaids as the poet tells us they were such "at bridals us'd that be."[5] I do not know that there
