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Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms
Book IIT

She smiles, appearing, 13 in truth she is,

Heaven-born, and destin'd to the skies again.
THE GARDEN.

Thou art not known where Pleasure is adord,

That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
Argument.

! And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm Self-recollertion and reproof. Address to do- or Novelty, her fickle, frail support; mestic happiness. Some account of myself. For thou art meek and constant, hating change, The vanity of many of their pursuits, who are And finding in the calm of truth-tried love reputed wire. Justification of my censures. Joys, that her stormy mptures never yield. Divine illumination necessary to the most expert Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made philosopher. The question, What is truth? an- of honor, dignity, and fair renown! swered by other questions. Domestic happiness Till prosiitution elbows us aside addressed again. Few lovers of the country. In all our crowded streets; and senates seem My tame hare. Occupations of a retirer gen-' Conven'd for purposes of empire less, tleman in his garden. Pruning. Framing. Than to release th' adult'ress from her bond. Green-house. Sowing of flower seeds. The Th' adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse! country preferable to the town even in the win-'What provocation to th' indignant heart, ter. Reasons why it is deserted at that sea. That feels for injur'd love! but I disdain son. Ruinous effects of gaming, and of expen- The nauseous task, to paint her as she is, sive improvement. Book concludes with an Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame! apostrophe to the metropolis.

Vo:-let her pass, and charioted along

In guilty splendor, shake the public ways; As one, who long in thiekets and in brakes

The frequency, of crimes has wash'd them white, Entangled winds now this way and now that And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch. His devious course uncertain, seeking home; Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd

And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own. And sore diacomfited, from slough to slough

Virtue and vice had boundries in old time.
Plunging and half-despairing of escape;

Not to be pass'd: and she, that had renounc'd
If chance at length he find a green-ward smooth Her ser's honor, wis renounc'd herself
And faithfal to the foot, his spirits rise,

By all that priz'd it; not for prudery's sake,
He cherupe brisk his ear-erecting steed,

Bat dignity's, resentful of the wrong. And winds his way with pleasure and with ease; "Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, So I, designing other themes, and called

Desirous to return, and not received: To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,

But was a wholesome rigor in the main, To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams, And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with can Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat

That purity, whose loss was loss of all. Of academie fame (howe'er deservd),

Men too were nice in honor in those days, Long held, and scarcely disengag'd at last. And judg'd offenders well. Then he that sharp'd. But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd, I mean to tread. I feel myself at large.

Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil,

His country, or was slack when she requir'd If toil await me, or if dangers new.

His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch,
Since palpits fail, and sounding-boards reflect Paid with the blood, that he had basely spar'd,
Most part an empty ineffectual sound,

The price of his default. But now-ges, now
What chance that I, to fame so little known, We are become so candid and so fair,
Nor conversant with men or manners much, So lib'ral in construction, and so rich
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope In Christian charity, (good-natur'd age !)
Crack the satiric thong? "Twere wiser far

That they are safe, sinners of either sex,
For me, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes,

Transgress what laws they may. Well-dress'd, wellAnd charm'd with rural beauty, to repose, Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, Well-equipag‘d, is ticket good enough, My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains; To pass us readily through ev'ry door. Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft

Hypocrisy, detest her as we may, And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air

(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet.) Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth; May claim this merit still that she admits There, undisturb'd by folly, and appriz'd

The worth of what she mimics with such care, How great the danger of disturbing her,

And thus gives virtue indirect applause; To muse in silence, or at least confine

But she has burnt her mask not needed here, Remarks that gall so many, to the few

Where vire has such allowance, that her shifts My partners in retrcat. Disgust conceal'd

And specious semblances have lost their use. Is oft-times proof of wisdom. when the facit

i was a stricken deer, that left the herd Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach.

Long since. With many an arrow deep infir'd Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss

My panting side was charg'd, when I withdrew, of Paradise, that hast surviv'd the fall!

To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. Though few now taste thce unimpair'd and pure, There was I found by one, who had himself Or tasting long enjoy thee! too infirm,

Been hurt by th' archers. In his side he bore, Or too incantious, to preserve thy sweets

And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect With gentle force soliciting the darts, 21 femper sheds into thy crystal cup;

He drew them forth, and heald, and bade me lire.

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Since then, with few associates, in remote

Defend me therefore, common sense, say I,
And silent woods, I wander, far from those From reveries so airy, from the toil
My former partners of the peopled scene;

of dropping buckets into empty wells, With few associates, and not wishing more.

And growing old in drawing nothing up! Here much I ruminate, as much I may,

"'T were well," says one sage erudite, profound, With other views of men and manners now Terribly arch'd, and aquiline his nose, Than once, and others of a life to come.

And overbuilt with most impending brow's, I see that all are wand'rers, gone astray

“ 'Twere well, could you permit the World to live Each in his own delusion; they are lost

As the World pleases: what's the World to you ?" In chase of fancied happiness, still wood

Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk And never won. Dream after dream ensues; As sweet as charity from human breasts. And still they dream, that they shall still succeed, I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, And still are disappointed. Rings the world And exercise all functions of a man. With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, Ilow then should I and any man that lives And add two-thirds of the remaining half,

Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein, And find the total of their hopes and fears

Take of the crimson stream meand'ring there, Dreams, empty dreams. The million fit as gay, And catechize it well : apply thy glass, As if created only like the fly,

Search it, and prove now if it be not blood That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon, Congenial with thine own; and, if it be. To sport their season, and be seen no more.

What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, And pregnant with discov'ries new and rare. To cut the link of brotherhood, by which Some write a narrative of wars, and feats

One common Maker bound me to the kind ? Of heroes little known; and call the rant

True, I am no proficient, I confess, A history: describe the man, of whom

In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift His own coëvals took but little note,

And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, And paint his person, character, and views, And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ; As they had known him from his mother's womb. I cannot analyze the air, nor catch They disentangle from the puzzled skein,

| The parallax of yonder lum'nous point, In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up,

Thai seems half-quench'd in the immense abyss. The threads of politic and shrewd design,

Such pow’rs I boast not-neither can I rest
That ran through all his purposes, and charge A silent witness of the headlong rage,
His mind with meanings that he never had, Or heedless folly, by which thousands die,
Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine.
The solid earth, and from the strata there

God never meant, that man should scale the
Extract a register, by which we learn,
That he who made it, and reveal'd its date

By strides of human wisdom, in his works To Moses, was mistaken in its age.

Though wondrous: he commands us in his word Some, more acute, and more industrious still, To seek him rather, where his mercy shines. Contrive creation; travel nature up

The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above, To the sharp peak of her sublimesi height,

Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause
And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix'd, The grand effect; acknowledges with joy
And planetary some; what gave them first

His manner, and with rapture tastes his style.
Rotation, from what fountain Row'd their light. But never yet did philosophic tube,
Great contest follows, and much learned dust That brings the planets home into the eye
Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, Of Observation, and discovers, else
And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend Not visible, his family of worlds,
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp

Discover him, that rules them; such a veil
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws

Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, To distant worlds, and trilling in their own.

And dark in things divine. Full often too
Is 't not a pity now, that tickling rheums

Our wayward intellect, the more we learn
Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight of nature, overlooks her author more;
Of oracles like these? Great pity too,

From instrumental causes proud to draw
That having wielded th' elements, and built Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake.
A thousand systems, each in his own way,

But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray They should go out in fume, and be forgot! Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal Ah! what is life thus spent? and what are they Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, But frantic, who thus spend it? all for smoke Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptiz'd Eternity for bubbles proves at last

In the pure fountain of eternal love, A senseless bargain. When I see such games Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees Play'd by the creatures of a l'ow'r who swears As meant to indicate a God to man, That he will judge the Earth, and call the fool Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. To a sharp reck'ning, that has liv'd in vain; Learning has borne such fruit in other days And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, On all her branches : piety has found And prove it in the infallible result

Friends in the friends of science, and true pray's So hollow and so false--I feel my heart

Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd,

Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! If this be learning, most of all deceiv'd.

Sagacious reader of the works of God, Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, While thoughtful man is plausibly amus'd. | Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,

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And fed on manna! And such thine, in whom And clamors of the field ?-Detested sport
Our British Themis gloried with just cause, That owes its pleasures to another's pain;
Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd, "That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks
And sound integrity, not more than fam'd

of harmless nature, dumb but yet endued For sanctity of manners undefil'd.

With eloquence, that agonies inspire,
All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades

Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ?
Like the fair flow'r dishevel'd in the wind; Vain tears, alas! and sighs that never find
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream. A corresponding tone in jovial souls !
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,

Well-one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare And we that worship him ignoble graves.

Has never heard the sanguinary yell Nothing is proof against the gen'ral curse

Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. Of vanity, that seizes all below.

Innocent partner of my peaceful home The only amaranthine flow'r on Earth

Whom ten long years' experience of my care Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth.

Has made at last familiar; she has lost But what is truth? "Twas Pilate's question put

Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply.

Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. And wherefore? will not God impart his light Yes thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand To them that ask it?-Freely-'tis his joy,

That feeds thee; thou may'st frolic on the floor His glory, and his nature to impart.

At ev'ning, and at night retire secure But to the proud, uncandid, insincere,

To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarmid; Or negligent inquirer, not a spark.

For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'? What's that, which brings contempt upon a book,

All that is human in me, to protect And him who writes it, though the style be neat,

Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. The method clear, and argument exact ?

If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave; That makes a minister in boly things

And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, The joy of many, and the dread of more;

I knew at least one hare that had a friend, His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? How various his employments, whom the world That, while it gives us worth in God's account, Calls idle; and who justly in return Depreciates and undoes us in our own?

Esteems that busy world an idler too! What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy,

Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, That learning is too proud to gather up;

Delighiful industry enjoy'd at home, But which the poor, and the despis'd of all, And Nature in her cultivated trim Seek and obtain, and often find unsought?

Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroadTell me and I will tell thee what is truth. Can he want occupation, who has these? O friendly to the best pursuits of man,

Will he be idle, who has much t' enjoy ? Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,

Me therefore studious of laborious ease, Domestic life in rural pleasure past!

Not slothful, happy to deceive the time,
Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets; Not waste it, and aware that human life
Though many boast thy favors, and affect

Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
To understand and choose thee for their own. When He shall call his debtors to account,
But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss,

From whom are all our blessings, business finds Ev'n as his first progenitor, and quits,

Ev'n here! while sedulous I seek t'improve, Though plac'd in Paradise, (for Earth has still At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, Some traces of her youthful beauty left)

The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack Substantial happiness for transient joy.

Too oft, and much impeded in its work
Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse By causes not to be divulg'd in vain,
The growing seeds of wisdom; that suggest, To its just point-The service of mankind.
By ev'ry pleasing image they present,

He, that attends to his interior self,
Reflections such as meliorate the heart,

That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind Compose the passions, and exalt the mind;

That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks Scenes such as these, 'tis his supreme delight A social, not a dissipated life, To fill with riot, and defile with blood.

Has business ; feels himself engag'd t'achieve Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes No unimportant, though a silent, task. We persecute, annihilate the tribes,

A life all turbulence and noise may seem, That draw the sportsman over hill and dale To him that leads it, wise, and to be prais'd; Fearless and rapt away from all his cares ;

But wisdom is a pearl with most success Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies: Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye;

He that is ever occupied in storms, Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats; Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. How many self-deluded nymphs and swains,

The morning finds the self-sequester'd man Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Would find them hideous nurs'ries of the spleen, Whether inclement seasons recommend And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! His warm but simple home, where he enjoys They love the country, and none else, who seek With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart, For their own sake its silence, and its shade, Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Which neatly she prepares; then to his book Susceptible of pity, or a mind

Well chosen, and not sullenly perus’d Cultur'd and capable of sober thought,

In selfish silence, but imparted oft, For all the savage din of the swift pack,

As aught occurs, that she may smile to hear.

Or turn to nourishment, digested well.

For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf Or if the garden with its many cares,

Deciduous, when now November dark
All well repaid, demand him, he attends

Checks vegetation in the torpid plant
The welcome call, conscious how much the hand Expos'd to his cold breath, the task begins.
Of lubbard Labor needs his watchful eye,

Warily therefore, and with prudent heed,
Of loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen,

He seeks a favor'd spot; that where he builds Or misapplying his unskilful strength.

Th' agglomerated pile, his frame may front
Nor does he govern only or direct,

The Sun's meridian disk, and at the back
But much performs himself. No works, indeed, Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge
That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil, Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread
Servile employ ; but such as may amuse,

Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. Th' ascending damps; then leisurely impose,
Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees, And lightly, shaking it with agile hand
That meet, no barren interval between,

From the full fork, the saturated straw.
With pleasure more than ev'n their fruits afford; What longest binds the closest forms secure
Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. The shapely side, that as it rises takes,
These therefore are his own peculiar charge; By just degrees, an overhanging breadth,
No mcaner hand may discipline the shoots,

Shelt'ring the base with its projected eaves ;
None but his steel approach them. What is weak, Th' uplified frame, compact at ev'ry joint,
Distemper'd, or has lost prolific pow'rs,

And overlaid with clear translucent glass, Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand

He settles next upon the sloping mount, Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the sost Whose sharp declivity shoois off secure And succulent, that feeds its giant growth,

From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. But barren, at th' expense of neighb'ring twigs He shuts it close, and the first labor ends. Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick

Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth, That may disgrace his art, or disappoint

Slow gath'ring in the midst, through the square mass Large expectation, he disposes neat

Diffus'd, attain the surface: when, behold! At measur'd distances, that air and sun,

A pestilent and most corrosive steam, Admitted freely, may afford their aid,

Like a gross fog Baotian, rising fast,
And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. And fast condens'd upon the dewy sash,
Hence Summer has her riches, Autumn hence, Asks egress ; which obtain'd, the overcharg'd
And hence ev'n Winter fills his wither'd hand And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad,
With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own. In volumes wheeling slow, the vapor dank;
Fair recompense of labor well-bestow'd,

And, purified, rejoices to have lost
And wise precaution; which a clime so rude Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage
Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child Th' impatient fervor, which it first conceives
Of courlish Winter, in her froward moods

Within its reeking bosom, threat'ning death
Discov'ring much the temper of her sire.

To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. For oft, as if in her the stream of mild

Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft Maternal nature had revers'd its course,

The way to glory by miscarriage foul, She brings her infants forth with many smiles; Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch But, once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. Th' auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat, He therefore, timely warn'd himself, supplies Friendly to vital motion, may afford Her want of care, screening and keeping warm Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft | And glossy, he commits to pots of size As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild, Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar'd The fence withdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam, And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long, And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds.

To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, These on the warm and genial earth, that hides So grateful to the palate, and when rare

The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, So coveted, else base and disesteemid

He places lightly, and, as time subdues Food for the vulgar merely—is an art

The rage of fermentation, plunges deep That toiling ages have but just maturid,

In the soft medium, till they stand immers'd. And at this moment unessay'd in song.

Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since, And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at first Their eulogy; those sang the Mantuan bard, Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon, And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains; If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green The solitary shilling. Pardon then,

Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented leaves. Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame,

Cautious he pinches from the second stalk Th' ambition of one meaner far, whose pow'rs A pimple, that portends a future sprout, Presuming an attempt not less sublime,

And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste

The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish; Of critic appetite, no sordid fare,

Prolific all, and harbingers of more. A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce.

The crowded roots demand enlargement now, The stable yields a stercoraceous heap,

And transplantation in an ampler space. Impregnated with quick fermenting salts,

Indulg'd in what they wish, they soon supply And potent to resist the freezing blast;

Large foliage, overshadowing golden flow'rs,

Blown on the summit of th' apparent friet

of their crumplere effect. Much te remains These have their seres' anr., when Summer shines. Unening, and many cars are yet beland. The bee transports the fertiliang meal

An more abomons;

e n wien depenis From fow'r to flow'r, and ev'in the breathing ait Their rigor, injuri roon, net soon restord. Wafre the neh pride to its appointert one.

The soul must be renew' which ten wasbd Not so when Water soul A tant Art

Lotes its treasure oe' mhbrnus 42 Then are in Vature's office, bring to pass

And a ppoints the uns: the slender roots The glad espousal.. and Nures the crop

Close mterwoven, where they meet the rise Gradze not, ye neh, sinre Latory manst have Most suosih be nom : the sples branch His dainties, and the world's more num'rous half Most ify before the limite: the wither'd leaf Liven by contriving delicates for you.)

Must be detachd, and where it strews the door Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares Swept with a woman's neatness, breefing else The vigilance, the labor, and the skill

Contagion, and disseminatng dearb That day and night are exerrisd, and hang

Discharge but these kind offices, and who Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,

Would spare, that loves then, offices Like these That ye may gamish your profine regales

Well they retard the fil The sight is pleasd, With summer fruits brought forth by wint'ry guns. The scent regaid: each odorif rucs leaf, Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart

Each op'ning bison, freely breathes abroad The process. Heai and cold, and wind and steam, Iss gratitude, and thacks him with its sweets. Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarring So manifold, all pleasing in theu kind,

All healthful, are the employs of rural life, Minate as dust, and numberless, oft work

Reiterated as the wheel ct time Dire disappointment, that admits no cure,

Runs round; still ending, and beginning still And which no care can obviate. It were long, Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll, Too long, to tell th expedients and the shifts, That softly swelld and gaily dress'd appears Which be that fighta a season so severe

A flow'ry island, from the dark-green lawn Devises, while he guards his tender trest;

Emerging, must be deem'd a labor due And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit And sorted hues (each giving each relief, Of too much labor, worthless when produc'd. And by contrasted beauty shining more)

Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too. Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous Unconscious of a less propitious clime,

spade,
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home;
While the winds whistle, and the snows descend. Bot elegance, chief grace the garden shows
The spíry myrule with ansith'ring leaf

And most attractive, is the fair result
Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast or thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.
Of Portugal and western India there,

Without it, all is Gothic as the scene
The ruddier orange, and the paler lime,

To which th' insipid citizen resorts Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, Near yonder heath; where Industry misspent, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task, Th' amomum there with intermingling flow'rs Has made a Heaven on Earth ; with suns and moons And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts or close-ramm'd stones has charg'd th' encumberd Her crimson honors; and the spangled beau,

soil, Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long.

And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. All plants, of ev'ry leaf, that can endure

He, therefore, who would see his flow'r dispos d The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Sightly and in just order, ere he gives Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, Levantine regions these; th' Azores send

Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene Their jessamine: her jessamine remote

Shall break into its preconceiv'd display, Caffraria : foreigners from many lands,

Each for itself, and all as with one voice They form one social shade, as if conven'd

Conspiring, may attest his bright design.
By magic summons of th' Orphean lyre.

Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought 10 pass His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
But by a master's hand disposing well

Few self-supported flow'rs endure the wind
The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r,

Uninjur'd, but expect th' upholding aid Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms, Of the smooth-shaven prop, and nearly tied, And dress the regular yet various scene.

Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van

For int'rest sake, the living to the dead. The dwarfish, in the rear retir'd, but still

Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffusd Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, So once were rang'd the sons of ancient Rome, Like Virtue, thriving most where little seen: A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage; Some more aspiring catch the neighbor shrub And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, The song of Albion ; fearing each to lose

Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon Some note of Nature's music from his lips, And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen

The strength they borrow with the grace they lend In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye.

All hate the rank society of weeds,
Nor taste alone and well-contriv'd display

Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust
Suffice to give the marshal'd ranks the grace | Th' impov'rish'd earth ; an overbearing race,

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