The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq In two volumes. With Decorations. The fourth edition |
 | I. |
 | II. |
VERSES written at the Gardens of William
Shenstone, Esquire, near Birmingham, 1756. |
 | The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq |  |
333
VERSES written at the Gardens of William Shenstone, Esquire, near Birmingham, 1756.
“Ille terrarum mihi præter omnes
“Angulus ridet.”
Hor
“Angulus ridet.”
Hor
Would you these lov'd recesses trace,
And view fair Nature's modest face?
See her in every field-flower bloom?
O'er every thicket shed perfume?
By verdant groves, and vocal hills,
By mossy grotts, near purling rills,
Where'er you turn your wondering eyes,
Behold her win without disguise.
And view fair Nature's modest face?
See her in every field-flower bloom?
O'er every thicket shed perfume?
By verdant groves, and vocal hills,
By mossy grotts, near purling rills,
Where'er you turn your wondering eyes,
Behold her win without disguise.
What tho' no pageant trifles here,
As in the glare of courts, appear;
Tho' rarely here be heard the name
Of rank, or title, power, or fame;
Yet, if ingenuous be your mind,
A bliss more pure and unconfin'd
Your step attends—Draw freely nigh,
And meet the Bard's benignant eye:
On him no pedant forms await,
No proud reserve shuts up his gate;
No spleen, no party views controul
That warm benevolence of soul,
Which prompts the friendly generous part,
Regardless of each venal art;
Regardless of the world's acclaim;
And courteous with no selfish aim.
Draw freely nigh, and welcome find,
If not the costly, yet the kind.
Oh, he will lead you to the cells
Where every Muse and Virtue dwells,
Where the green Dryads guard his woods,
Where the blue Naïads guide his floods;
Where all the Sister-Graces gay,
That shap'd his walk's meandring way,
Stark-naked, or but wreath'd with flowers,
Lie slumbering soft beneath his bowers.
As in the glare of courts, appear;
Tho' rarely here be heard the name
Of rank, or title, power, or fame;
Yet, if ingenuous be your mind,
A bliss more pure and unconfin'd
Your step attends—Draw freely nigh,
And meet the Bard's benignant eye:
On him no pedant forms await,
No proud reserve shuts up his gate;
No spleen, no party views controul
That warm benevolence of soul,
334
Regardless of each venal art;
Regardless of the world's acclaim;
And courteous with no selfish aim.
Draw freely nigh, and welcome find,
If not the costly, yet the kind.
Oh, he will lead you to the cells
Where every Muse and Virtue dwells,
Where the green Dryads guard his woods,
Where the blue Naïads guide his floods;
Where all the Sister-Graces gay,
That shap'd his walk's meandring way,
Stark-naked, or but wreath'd with flowers,
Lie slumbering soft beneath his bowers.
Wak'd by the stock-dove's melting strain,
Behold them rise! and, with the train
Of nymphs that haunt the stream or grove,
Or o'er the flowery champain rove,
Join hand in hand—attentive gaze—
And mark the dance's mystic maze.
Behold them rise! and, with the train
Of nymphs that haunt the stream or grove,
Or o'er the flowery champain rove,
Join hand in hand—attentive gaze—
And mark the dance's mystic maze.
“Such is the waving line,” they cry,
“For ever dear to Fancy's eye!
“Yon stream that wanders down the dale,
“The spiral wood, the winding vale,
“The path which, wrought with hidden skill,
“Slow twining scales yon distant hill
“With fir invested—all combine
“To recommend the waving line.
“For ever dear to Fancy's eye!
“Yon stream that wanders down the dale,
“The spiral wood, the winding vale,
“The path which, wrought with hidden skill,
“Slow twining scales yon distant hill
“With fir invested—all combine
“To recommend the waving line.
335
“The wreathed rod of Bacchus fair,
“The ringlets of Apollo's hair,
“The wand by Maïa's offspring born,
“The smooth volutes of Ammon's horn,
“The structure of the Cyprian dame,
“And each fair female's beauteous frame,
“Shew, to the pupils of Design,
“The triumphs of the Waving Line.”
“The ringlets of Apollo's hair,
“The wand by Maïa's offspring born,
“The smooth volutes of Ammon's horn,
“The structure of the Cyprian dame,
“And each fair female's beauteous frame,
“Shew, to the pupils of Design,
“The triumphs of the Waving Line.”
Then gaze, and mark that union sweet,
Where fair convex and concave meet;
And while, quick shifting as you stray,
The vivid scenes on fancy play;
The lawn, of aspect smooth and mild;
The forest ground, grotesque and wild;
The shrub that scents the mountain gale;
The stream rough dashing down the dale.
From rock to rock, in eddies tost;
The distant lake in which 'tis lost;
Blue hills gay beaming thro' the glade;
Lone urns that solemnize the shade;
Sweet interchange of all that charms
In groves, meads, dingles, rivulets, farms!
If aught the fair confusion please,
With lasting health, and lasting ease,
To him who form'd the blissful bower,
And gave thy life one tranquil hour;
Wish peace and freedom—these possest,
His temperate mind secures the rest.
Where fair convex and concave meet;
And while, quick shifting as you stray,
The vivid scenes on fancy play;
The lawn, of aspect smooth and mild;
The forest ground, grotesque and wild;
The shrub that scents the mountain gale;
The stream rough dashing down the dale.
From rock to rock, in eddies tost;
The distant lake in which 'tis lost;
Blue hills gay beaming thro' the glade;
Lone urns that solemnize the shade;
Sweet interchange of all that charms
In groves, meads, dingles, rivulets, farms!
If aught the fair confusion please,
With lasting health, and lasting ease,
To him who form'd the blissful bower,
And gave thy life one tranquil hour;
Wish peace and freedom—these possest,
His temperate mind secures the rest.
336
But if thy soul such bliss despise,
Avert thy dull incurious eyes;
Go fix them there, where gems and gold,
Improv'd by art, their power unfold;
Go try in courtly scenes to trace
A fairer form of Nature's face:
Go scorn simplicity—but know,
That all our heart-felt joys below,
That all which virtue loves to name,
Which art consigns to lasting fame,
Which fixes wit or beauty's throne,
Derives its source from her alone.
Avert thy dull incurious eyes;
Go fix them there, where gems and gold,
Improv'd by art, their power unfold;
Go try in courtly scenes to trace
A fairer form of Nature's face:
Go scorn simplicity—but know,
That all our heart-felt joys below,
That all which virtue loves to name,
Which art consigns to lasting fame,
Which fixes wit or beauty's throne,
Derives its source from her alone.
Arcadio.
| The works, in verse and prose, of William Shenstone, Esq | |