So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show, while Roscius trod the stage;And so, while Garrick, as renowned 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 every flash of his far-beaming eye.
Nor taste alone and well-contrived display Suffice to give the marshalled 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 renewed, which often washed Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, And disappoints the roots; the slender roots, Close interwoven where they meet the vase, Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch Must fly before the knife; the withered leaf Must be detached, 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, 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 swelled and gaily dressed, 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-matched And sorted hues (each giving each relief, And by contrasted beauty shining more)
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home, But elegance, chief grace the garden shows And most attractive, is the fair result Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.
Without it, all is Gothic as the scene To which the insipid citizen resorts, Near yonder heath; where industry misspent, But proud of his uncouth, ill-chosen task, Has made a heaven on earth; with suns and moons Of close-rammed stones has charged the encumbered 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 performed His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
Few self-supported flowers endure the wind Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 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 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 unadorned, 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 very greedy to exhaust The impoverished 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'erleaped with ease By vicious custom raging uncontrolled Abroad and desolating public life.
When fierce temptation, seconded within By traitor appetite, and armed with darts Tempered in hell, invades the throbbing breast, To combat may be glorious, and success Perhaps may crown us, but to fly is safe.
Had I the choice of sublunary good, What could I wish that I possess not here?
Health, leisure; means to improve it, friendship, peace, No loose or wanton though a wandering muse, And constant occupation without care.
Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss;Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds And profligate abusers of a world Created fair so much in vain for them, Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe, Allured by my report; but sure no less That self-condemned they must neglect the prize, And what they will not taste, must yet approve.
What we admire we praise; and when we praise Advance it into notice, that, its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
I therefore recommend, though at the risk Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, The cause of piety and sacred truth And virtue, and those scenes which God ordained Should best secure them and promote them most;Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive Forsaken, or through folly not enjoyed.
Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles, And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol.
Not as the prince in Shushan, when he called, Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, To grace the full pavilion. His design Was but to boast his own peculiar good, Which all might view with envy, none partake.
My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets, And she that sweetens all my bitters, too, Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form And lineaments divine I trace a hand That errs not, and find raptures still renewed, Is free to all men--universal prize.
Strange that so fair a creature should yet want Admirers, and be destined to divide With meaner objects even the few she finds.
Stript of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers, She loses all her influence. Cities then Attract us, and neglected Nature pines, Abandoned, as unworthy of our love.
