The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam, Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies Minute as dust and numberless, oft work Dire disappointment that admits no cure, And which no care can obviate. It were long, Too long to tell the expedients and the shifts Which he that fights a season so severe Devises, while he guards his tender trust, And oft, at last, in vain. The learn'd and wise Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as its theme, and like its theme, the fruit Of too much labour, worthless when produced.
Who loves a garden, loves a green-house too. Unconscious of a less propitious clime There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, While the winds whistle and the snows descend. The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf
Shines there and flourishes. The golden boast Of Portugal and western India there, The ruddier orange and the paler lime, Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. The amomum there with intermingling flowers And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honours, and the spangled beau Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. All plants of every leaf 20 that can endure
The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions these; the Azores send
20 Flowers of all hue. Par. Lost, iv. 256
Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraria; foreigners from many lands They form one social shade, as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre.
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass But by a master's hand, disposing well The gay diversities of leaf and flower,
Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene.
Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.
So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage; And so, while Garrick as renown'd as he, The sons of Albion,-fearing each to lose Some note of Nature's music from his lips, And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty seen In flash of his far-beaming eye.
every Nor taste alone and well-contrived display Suffice to give the marshal'd ranks the grace Of their complete effect. Much yet remains Unsung, and many cares are yet behind
And more laborious; cares on which depends Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored. The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, And disappoints the roots; the slender roots Close interwoven where they meet the vase
21 While friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien, More than theatric force to Shakespeare's scene.
Wordsworth. On Sir G. Beaumont.
Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch Must fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else Contagion, and disseminating death.
Discharge but these kind offices, (and who
Would spare, that loves them, offices like these?) Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased, 620 The scent regaled; each odoriferous leaf, Each opening blossom freely breathes abroad Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, All healthful, are the employs of rural life, Reiterated as the wheel of time
Runs round, still ending, and beginning still. Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd, appears A flowery island from the dark green lawn Emerging, must be deemed a labour due
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Here also grateful mixture of well match'd
And sorted hues, (each giving each relief,
And by contrasted beauty shining more,)
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade 22, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home, But elegance, chief grace the garden shows
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler, and to tease the huswife's wool: What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
And most attractive, is the fair result
Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. Without it, all is Gothic as the scene
To which the insipid citizen resorts
Near yonder heath; where industry mispent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,
Has made a heaven on earth; with suns and moons Of close-ramm'd stones has charged the incumber'd soil, And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.
He therefore who would see his flowers disposed Sightly and in just order, ere he gives
The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds
Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene Shall break into its preconceived display, Each for itself, and all as with one voice Conspiring, may attest his bright design. Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. Few self-supported flowers endure the wind Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 23 Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied Are wedded thus like beauty to old age, For interest sake, the living to the dead. Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused
23 Man, like the generous vine, supported lives, The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. Essay on Man, iii. 311.
To wed her elm; she spoused about him twines Her marriageable arms, and with her brings Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn His barren leaves.
And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair,
Like virtue, thriving most where little seen. Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. All hate the rank society of weeds
Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust The impoverish'd earth; an overbearing race, That like the multitude made faction-mad Disturb good order, and degrade true worth.
Oh blest seclusion from a jarring world Which he thus occupied, enjoys! Retreat Cannot indeed to guilty man restore Lost innocence, or cancel follies past;
But it has peace, and much secures the mind From all assaults of evil, proving still
A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease By vicious custom, raging uncontrol'd Abroad, and desolating public life. When fierce temptation seconded within By traitor appetite, and arm'd with darts Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breast, To combat may be glorious, and success Perhaps may crown us; but to fly is safe 24. Had I the choice of sublunary good,
What could I wish, that I
2 Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And since 'tis hard to combat learns to fly.
« PreviousContinue » |