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The botanic garden, a poem

In two parts. Part I. Containing The economy of Vegetation, Part II. The Loves of the plants. With philosophical notes. The fourth edition. [by Erasmus Darwin]
Darwin, Erasmus (1731-1802)
  
[epigraph]

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[section]
  
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE POEM ON THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS.
  
TO Dr. DARWIN.
  
TO Dr. DARWIN.
  
TO Dr. DARWIN.
  
Address to the River Derwent, on whose Banks the Author of the Botanic Garden resides.
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THE BOTANIC GARDEN.
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PART I. CONTAINING THE ECONOMY OF VEGETATION
 I. 
CANTO I.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
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VII.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
  
[section]
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CANTO II.
  
[prologue]
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
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V.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 4. 
4.
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VI.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
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CANTO III.
  
[prologue]
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
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V.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
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VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV.
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CANTO IV.
  
[prologue]
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
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III.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
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IV.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
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X.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 3. 
3.
 XI. 
XI.
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XII.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 XIII. 
XIII.
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XIV.
 1. 
1.
 2. 
2.
 XV. 
XV.
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PART II. CONTAINING THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS
 I. 
CANTO I.
 II. 
CANTO II.
 III. 
CANTO III.
 IV. 
CANTO IV.

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1.

“Hence with diffusive Salt old Ocean steeps
His emerald shallows, and his sapphire deeps.
83

Oft in wide lakes, around their warmer brim
In hollow pyramids the crystals swim;
Or, fused by earth-born fires, in cubic blocks
Shoot their white forms, and harden into rocks.
84

“Thus cavern'd round in Cracow's mighty mines,
With crystal walls a gorgeous city shines;
Scoop'd in the briny rock long streets extend
Their hoary course, and glittering domes ascend;
Down the bright steeps, emerging into day,
Impetuous fountains burst their headlong way,
O'er milk-white vales in ivory channels spread,
And wondering seek their subterraneous bed.
Form'd in pellucid salt with chissel nice,
The pale lamp glimmering through the sculptured ice,
With wild reverted eyes fair Lotta stands,
And spreads to Heaven, in vain, her glassy hands;
Cold dews condense upon her pearly breast,
And the big tear rolls lucid down her vest.
Far gleaming o'er the town transparent fanes
Rear their white towers, and wave their golden vanes;
Long lines of lustres pour their trembling rays,
And the bright vault returns the mingled blaze.
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