And fast beside these trickled softly downe
      A gentle streame, whose murmuring wave did play
      Emongst the pumy stones, and made a sowne,
      To lull him soft asleepe that by it lay
      The wearie traveiler wandring that way,
      Therein did often quench his thirsty head
      And then by it his wearie limbes display,
      (Whiles creeping slomber made him to forget
    His former payne,) and wypt away his toilsom sweat.

      And on the other syde a pleasaunt grove
      Was shott up high, full of the stately tree
      That dedicated is t’Olympick Iove,
      And to his son Alcides,[042] whenas hee
      In Nemus gayned goodly victoree
      Theirin the merry birds of every sorte
      Chaunted alowd their cheerful harmonee,
      And made emongst themselves a sweete consort
    That quickned the dull spright with musicall comfort.

Fairie Queene, Book 2 Cant. 5 Stanzas 29, 30 and 31.

Here is a sweet picture of a “shady lodge” from the hand of Milton.

EVE’S NUPTIAL BOWER.

    Thus talking, hand in hand alone they pass’d
    On to their blissful bower.  It was a place
    Chosen by the sov’reign Planter, when he framed
    All things to man’s delightful use, the roof
    Of thickest covert was inwoven shade,
    Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew
    Of firm and fragrant leaf, on either side
    Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub,
    Fenced up the verdant wall, each beauteous flower
    Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine,
    Rear’d high their flourish’d heads between, and wrought
    Mosaic, under foot the violet,
    Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay
    Broider’d the ground, more colour’d than with stone
    Of costliest emblem other creature here,
    Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none,
    Such was their awe of man.  In shadier bower
    More sacred and sequester’d, though but feign’d,
    Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph
    Nor Faunus haunted.  Here, in close recess,
    With flowers, garlands, and sweet smelling herbs,
    Espoused Eve deck’d first her nuptial bed,
    And heavenly quires the hymenean sung

I have already quoted from Leigh Hunt’s “Stories from the Italian poets” an amusing anecdote illustrative of Ariosto’s ignorance of botany.  But even in these days when all sorts of sciences are forced upon all sorts of students, we often meet with persons of considerable sagacity and much information of a different kind who are marvellously ignorant of the vegetable world.