 | The Poetical Works of John Scott |  |
257
EPISTLES.
259
EPISTLE I. THE GARDEN.
TO A FRIEND.
From Whitby's rocks steep rising o'er the main,
From Eska's vales, or Ewecot's lonely plain,
Say, rove thy thoughts to Amwell's distant bow'rs,
To mark how pass thy Friend's sequester'd hours?
From Eska's vales, or Ewecot's lonely plain,
Say, rove thy thoughts to Amwell's distant bow'rs,
To mark how pass thy Friend's sequester'd hours?
‘Perhaps, 'think'st thou, ‘he seeks his pleasing scenes
‘Of winding walks, smooth lawns, and shady greens:
‘Where China's willow hangs its foliage fair,
‘And Po's tall poplar waves its top in air,
‘And the dark maple spreads its umbrage wide,
‘And the white bench adorns the bason side;
‘At morn reclin'd, perhaps, he sits to view
‘The bank's neat slope, the water's silver hue.
‘Of winding walks, smooth lawns, and shady greens:
‘Where China's willow hangs its foliage fair,
‘And Po's tall poplar waves its top in air,
260
‘And the white bench adorns the bason side;
‘At morn reclin'd, perhaps, he sits to view
‘The bank's neat slope, the water's silver hue.
‘Where, 'midst thick oaks, the subterraneous way
‘To the arch'd grot admits a feeble ray;
‘Where glossy pebbles pave the varied floors,
‘And rough flint-walls are deck'd with shells and ores,
‘And silvery pearls, spread o'er the roofs on high,
‘Glimmer like faint stars in a twilight sky;
‘From noon's fierce glare, perhaps, he pleas'd retires,
‘Indulging musings which the place inspires.
‘To the arch'd grot admits a feeble ray;
‘Where glossy pebbles pave the varied floors,
‘And rough flint-walls are deck'd with shells and ores,
‘And silvery pearls, spread o'er the roofs on high,
‘Glimmer like faint stars in a twilight sky;
‘From noon's fierce glare, perhaps, he pleas'd retires,
‘Indulging musings which the place inspires.
‘Now where the airy octagon ascends,
‘And wide the prospect o'er the vale extends,
‘'Midst evening's calm, intent perhaps he stands,
‘And looks o'er all that length of sun-gilt lands,
‘Of bright green pastures, stretch'd by rivers clear,
‘And willow groves, or osier islands near.’
‘And wide the prospect o'er the vale extends,
‘'Midst evening's calm, intent perhaps he stands,
‘And looks o'er all that length of sun-gilt lands,
‘Of bright green pastures, stretch'd by rivers clear,
‘And willow groves, or osier islands near.’
261
Alas, my friend, how strangely men mistake,
Who guess what others most their pleasure make!
These garden scenes, which Fashion o'er our plains
Spreads round the villas of our wealthy swains,
Tho' Envy grudge, or Friendship wish to share,
They claim but little of their owners' care.
Who guess what others most their pleasure make!
These garden scenes, which Fashion o'er our plains
Spreads round the villas of our wealthy swains,
Tho' Envy grudge, or Friendship wish to share,
They claim but little of their owners' care.
For me, my groves not oft my steps invite,
And far less oft they fail to offend my sight:
In vain the senna waves its glossy gold,
In vain the cistus' spotted flowers unfold,
In vain the acacia's snowy bloom depends,
In vain the sumach's scarlet spike ascends,
In vain the woodbine's spicy tufts disclose,
And green slopes redden with the shedding rose:
These neat-shorn hawthorns useless verdant bound,
This long straight walk, that pool's unmeaning round,
These short-curv'd paths that twist beneath the trees,
Disgust the eye, and make the whole displease.
‘No scene like this,’ I say, ‘did Nature raise,
‘Brown's fancy form, or Walpole's judgment praise;
‘No prototype for this did I survey
‘In Woollett's landscapes , or in Mason's lay.’
And far less oft they fail to offend my sight:
In vain the senna waves its glossy gold,
In vain the cistus' spotted flowers unfold,
In vain the acacia's snowy bloom depends,
In vain the sumach's scarlet spike ascends,
In vain the woodbine's spicy tufts disclose,
And green slopes redden with the shedding rose:
These neat-shorn hawthorns useless verdant bound,
This long straight walk, that pool's unmeaning round,
These short-curv'd paths that twist beneath the trees,
Disgust the eye, and make the whole displease.
262
‘Brown's fancy form, or Walpole's judgment praise;
‘No prototype for this did I survey
‘In Woollett's landscapes , or in Mason's lay.’
But might thy genius, Friend, an Eden frame,
Profuse of beauty, and secure from blame;
Where round the lawn might wind the varied way,
Now lost in gloom, and now with prospect gay;
Now screen'd with clumps of green, for wintry bow'rs;
Now edg'd with sunny banks, for summer flow'rs;
Now led by chrystal lakes with lilies drest,
Or where light temples court the step to rest—
Time's gradual change, or Tempest's sudden rage,
There with thy peace perpetual war would wage.
That tyrant oak, whose arms so far o'ergrow,
Shades some poor shrub that pines with drought below;
These rampant elms, those hazels branching wide,
Crowd the broad pine, the spiry larix hide.
That lilac brow, where May's unsparing hand
Bade one vast swell of purple bloom expand,
Soon past its prime, shews signs of quick decay,
The naked stem, and scanty-cover'd spray.
Fierce Boreas calls, and Ruin waits his call;
Thy fair catalpa's broken branches fall;
Thy soft magnolia mourns her blasted green,
And blighted laurel's yellowing leaves are seen.
Profuse of beauty, and secure from blame;
Where round the lawn might wind the varied way,
Now lost in gloom, and now with prospect gay;
Now screen'd with clumps of green, for wintry bow'rs;
Now edg'd with sunny banks, for summer flow'rs;
Now led by chrystal lakes with lilies drest,
Or where light temples court the step to rest—
Time's gradual change, or Tempest's sudden rage,
There with thy peace perpetual war would wage.
263
Shades some poor shrub that pines with drought below;
These rampant elms, those hazels branching wide,
Crowd the broad pine, the spiry larix hide.
That lilac brow, where May's unsparing hand
Bade one vast swell of purple bloom expand,
Soon past its prime, shews signs of quick decay,
The naked stem, and scanty-cover'd spray.
Fierce Boreas calls, and Ruin waits his call;
Thy fair catalpa's broken branches fall;
Thy soft magnolia mourns her blasted green,
And blighted laurel's yellowing leaves are seen.
But Discontent alone, thou'lt say, complains
For ill success, where none perfection gains:
True is the charge; but from that tyrant's sway
What art, what power, can e'er redeem our day?
To me, indeed, short ease he sometimes yields,
When my lone walk surrounds the rural fields;
There no past errors of my own upbraid,
No time, no wealth, expended unrepaid:
There Nature dwells, and throws profuse around
Each pastoral sight and every pastoral sound;
From Spring's green copse, that pours the cuckoo's strain,
And evening bleatings of the fleecy train,
To Autumn's yellow field, and clamorous horn
That wakes the slumbering harvesters at morn.
There Fancy too, with fond delighted eyes,
Sees o'er the scene ideal people rise;
There calm Contentment, in his cot reclin'd,
Hears the grey poplars whisper in the wind;
There Love's sweet song adown the echoing dale
To Beauty's ear conveys the tender tale;
And there Devotion lifts his brow to Heaven,
With grateful thanks for many a blessing given.
For ill success, where none perfection gains:
True is the charge; but from that tyrant's sway
What art, what power, can e'er redeem our day?
To me, indeed, short ease he sometimes yields,
When my lone walk surrounds the rural fields;
264
No time, no wealth, expended unrepaid:
There Nature dwells, and throws profuse around
Each pastoral sight and every pastoral sound;
From Spring's green copse, that pours the cuckoo's strain,
And evening bleatings of the fleecy train,
To Autumn's yellow field, and clamorous horn
That wakes the slumbering harvesters at morn.
There Fancy too, with fond delighted eyes,
Sees o'er the scene ideal people rise;
There calm Contentment, in his cot reclin'd,
Hears the grey poplars whisper in the wind;
265
To Beauty's ear conveys the tender tale;
And there Devotion lifts his brow to Heaven,
With grateful thanks for many a blessing given.
Thus oft thro' Maylan's shady lane I stray,
Trace Rushgreen's paths, or Postwood's winding way;
Thus oft to Eastfield's airy height I haste;
(All well-known spots thy feet have frequent trac'd!)
While Memory, as my sight around I cast,
Suggests the pleasing thought of moments past;
Or Hope, amid the future, forms again
The dream of bliss Experience broke in vain.
Trace Rushgreen's paths, or Postwood's winding way;
Thus oft to Eastfield's airy height I haste;
(All well-known spots thy feet have frequent trac'd!)
While Memory, as my sight around I cast,
Suggests the pleasing thought of moments past;
Or Hope, amid the future, forms again
The dream of bliss Experience broke in vain.
See Mr. Walpole's ingenious History of the Modern Taste in Gardening, at the end of the Fourth Volume of his Anecdotes of Painting.
The above-named excellent Artist, several years ago, drew and engraved a number of beautiful views in some of our most celebrated modern gardens.
There is a custom, frequent in many parts of England, of calling the harvest-men to and from work by the sound of a horn. This practice, as well as that of the Harvest-Shouting, seems much on the decline. The latter could boast its origin from high antiquity, as appears from that beautiful stroke of Eastern Poetry, Isaiah, chap. xvi: “I will water thee with my tears, O Heshbon and Elealeh; for the shouting for thy summer fruits, and for thy harvest, is fallen!”
266
EPISTLE II. WINTER AMUSEMENTS IN THE COUNTRY.
TO A FRIEND IN LONDON.
While Thee, my Friend, the City's scenes detain,—
The chearful scenes where Trade and Pleasure reign;
Where glittering shops their varied stores display,
And passing thousands crowd the public way;
Where Painting's forms and Music's sounds delight,
And Fashion's frequent novelties invite,
And Conversation's sober social hours
Engage the mind, and elevate its powers—
Far different scenes for us the country yields,
Deserted roads and unfrequented fields:
Yet deem not, lonely as they are, that these
Boast nought to charm the eye, the ear to please.
Tho' here the Tyrant Winter holds command,
And bids rude tempests desolate the land;
Sometimes the Sun extends his chearing beam,
And all the landscape casts a golden gleam:
Clear is the sky, and calm and soft the air,
And thro' thin mist each object looks more fair.
The chearful scenes where Trade and Pleasure reign;
Where glittering shops their varied stores display,
And passing thousands crowd the public way;
Where Painting's forms and Music's sounds delight,
And Fashion's frequent novelties invite,
And Conversation's sober social hours
Engage the mind, and elevate its powers—
Far different scenes for us the country yields,
Deserted roads and unfrequented fields:
Yet deem not, lonely as they are, that these
Boast nought to charm the eye, the ear to please.
267
And bids rude tempests desolate the land;
Sometimes the Sun extends his chearing beam,
And all the landscape casts a golden gleam:
Clear is the sky, and calm and soft the air,
And thro' thin mist each object looks more fair.
Then, where the villa rears its sheltering grove,
Along the southern lawn 'tis sweet to rove:
There dark green pines, behind, their boughs extend,
And bright spruce firs like pyramids ascend,
And round their tops, in many a pendent row,
Their scaly cones of shining auburn show;
There the broad cedar's level branches spread,
And the tall cypress lifts its spiry head;
With alaternus ilex interweaves,
And laurels mix their glossy oval leaves;
And gilded holly crimson fruit displays,
And white viburnum o'er the border strays.
Along the southern lawn 'tis sweet to rove:
There dark green pines, behind, their boughs extend,
And bright spruce firs like pyramids ascend,
And round their tops, in many a pendent row,
Their scaly cones of shining auburn show;
There the broad cedar's level branches spread,
And the tall cypress lifts its spiry head;
With alaternus ilex interweaves,
And laurels mix their glossy oval leaves;
And gilded holly crimson fruit displays,
And white viburnum o'er the border strays.
268
Where these from storms the spacious greenhouse screen,
Ev'n now the eye beholds a flow'ry scene;
There chrystal sashes ward the injurious cold,
And rows of benches fair exotics hold;
Rich plants, that Afric's sunny cape supplies,
Or o'er the isles of either India rise.
Ev'n now the eye beholds a flow'ry scene;
There chrystal sashes ward the injurious cold,
And rows of benches fair exotics hold;
Rich plants, that Afric's sunny cape supplies,
Or o'er the isles of either India rise.
While strip'd geranium shows its tufts of red,
And verdant myrtles grateful fragrance shed;
A moment stay to mark the vivid bloom,
A moment stay to catch the high perfume,
And then to rural scenes—Yon path, that leads
Down the steep bourn and 'cross the level meads,
Soon mounts the opponent hill, and soon conveys
To where the farm its pleasing group displays:
The rustic mansion's form, antiquely fair;
The yew-hedg'd garden, with its grass-plat square;
The barn's long ridge, and doors expanded wide;
The stable's straw-clad eves and clay-built side;
The cartshed's roof, of rough-hewn roundwood made,
And loose on heads of old sere pollards laid;
The granary's floor that smooth-wrought posts sustain,
Where hungry vermin strive to climb in vain;
And many an ash that wild around them grows,
And many an elm that shelter o'er them throws.
And verdant myrtles grateful fragrance shed;
A moment stay to mark the vivid bloom,
A moment stay to catch the high perfume,
And then to rural scenes—Yon path, that leads
Down the steep bourn and 'cross the level meads,
Soon mounts the opponent hill, and soon conveys
To where the farm its pleasing group displays:
The rustic mansion's form, antiquely fair;
The yew-hedg'd garden, with its grass-plat square;
The barn's long ridge, and doors expanded wide;
The stable's straw-clad eves and clay-built side;
269
And loose on heads of old sere pollards laid;
The granary's floor that smooth-wrought posts sustain,
Where hungry vermin strive to climb in vain;
And many an ash that wild around them grows,
And many an elm that shelter o'er them throws.
Then round the moat we turn, with pales inclos'd,
And 'midst the orchard's trees in rows dispos'd,
Whose boughs thick tufts of misletoe adorn
With fruit of lucid white on joints of yellow borne.
And 'midst the orchard's trees in rows dispos'd,
Whose boughs thick tufts of misletoe adorn
With fruit of lucid white on joints of yellow borne.
Thence up the lane, romantic woods among,
Beneath old oaks with ivy overhung
(O'er their rough trunks the hairy stalks intwine,
And on their arms the sable berries shine):
Here oft the sight, on banks bestrewn with leaves,
The early primrose' opening bud perceives;
And oft steep dells or ragged cliffs unfold
The prickly furze with bloom of brightest gold;
Here oft the red-breast hops along the way,
And 'midst grey moss explores his insect prey;
Or the green woodspite
flies with outcry shrill,
And delves the sere bough with his sounding bill;
Or the rous'd hare starts rustling from the brake,
And gaudy jays incessant clamour make;
Or echoing hills return from stubbles nigh
The sportsman's gun, and spaniel's yelping cry.
Beneath old oaks with ivy overhung
(O'er their rough trunks the hairy stalks intwine,
And on their arms the sable berries shine):
Here oft the sight, on banks bestrewn with leaves,
The early primrose' opening bud perceives;
And oft steep dells or ragged cliffs unfold
The prickly furze with bloom of brightest gold;
Here oft the red-breast hops along the way,
And 'midst grey moss explores his insect prey;
270
And delves the sere bough with his sounding bill;
Or the rous'd hare starts rustling from the brake,
And gaudy jays incessant clamour make;
Or echoing hills return from stubbles nigh
The sportsman's gun, and spaniel's yelping cry.
And now the covert ends in open ground,
That spreads wide views beneath us all around;
There turbid waters, edg'd with yellow reeds,
Roll thro' the russet herd-forsaken meads;
There from the meads th' inclosures sloping rise,
And, 'midst th' inclosures, dusky woodland lies;
While pointed spires and curling smokes, between,
Mark towns and vills and cottages unseen.
And now,—for now the breeze and noontide ray
Clear the last remnants of the mist away,—
Far, far o'er all extends the aching eye,
Where azure mountains mingle with the sky:
To these the curious optic tube applied
Reveals each object distance else would hide;
There seats or homesteads, plac'd in pleasant shades,
Show their white walls and windows thro' the glades;
There rears the hamlet church its hoary tow'r
(The clock's bright index points the passing hour);
There green-rob'd huntsmen o'er the sunny lawn
Lead home their beagles from the chace withdrawn,
And ploughs slow-moving turn the broad champaign,
And on steep summits feed the fleecy train.
That spreads wide views beneath us all around;
There turbid waters, edg'd with yellow reeds,
Roll thro' the russet herd-forsaken meads;
There from the meads th' inclosures sloping rise,
And, 'midst th' inclosures, dusky woodland lies;
While pointed spires and curling smokes, between,
Mark towns and vills and cottages unseen.
And now,—for now the breeze and noontide ray
Clear the last remnants of the mist away,—
Far, far o'er all extends the aching eye,
Where azure mountains mingle with the sky:
271
Reveals each object distance else would hide;
There seats or homesteads, plac'd in pleasant shades,
Show their white walls and windows thro' the glades;
There rears the hamlet church its hoary tow'r
(The clock's bright index points the passing hour);
There green-rob'd huntsmen o'er the sunny lawn
Lead home their beagles from the chace withdrawn,
And ploughs slow-moving turn the broad champaign,
And on steep summits feed the fleecy train.
But wintry months few days like these supply,
And their few moments far too swiftly fly:
Dank thaws, chill fogs, rough winds, and beating rain,
To sheltering rooms th' unwilling step detain;
Yet there, my Friend, shall liberal Science find
Amusement various for th' inquiring mind.
And their few moments far too swiftly fly:
Dank thaws, chill fogs, rough winds, and beating rain,
To sheltering rooms th' unwilling step detain;
Yet there, my Friend, shall liberal Science find
Amusement various for th' inquiring mind.
While History's hand her sanguine record brings,
With woes of nations fraught, and crimes of kings;
Plague thins the street, and Famine blasts the plain,
War wields his sword, Oppression binds his chain;
Curiosity pursues the unfolding tale,
Which Reason blames, and Pity's tears bewail.
With woes of nations fraught, and crimes of kings;
272
War wields his sword, Oppression binds his chain;
Curiosity pursues the unfolding tale,
Which Reason blames, and Pity's tears bewail.
While Fancy's powers the eventful novel frame,
And Virtue's care directs its constant aim;
As Fiction's pen domestic life portrays,
Its hopes and fears and joys and griefs displays;
By Grandison's or Clinton's story mov'd,
We read delighted, and we rise improv'd.
And Virtue's care directs its constant aim;
As Fiction's pen domestic life portrays,
Its hopes and fears and joys and griefs displays;
By Grandison's or Clinton's story mov'd,
We read delighted, and we rise improv'd.
Then with bold Voyagers our thought explores
Vast tracts of ocean and untrodden shores;
Now views rude climes, where ice-rocks drear aspire,
Or red volcanos shoot their streams of fire:
Now seeks sweet isles, where lofty palm-groves wave,
And cany banks translucent rivers lave;
Where Plenty's gifts luxuriant load the soil,
And Ease reposes, charm'd with Beauty's smile.
Such, hapless Cook
! amid the southern main,
Rose thy Ta-heitè's peaks and flowery plain;—
Why, daring Wanderer! quit that blissful land,
To seek new dangers on a barbarous strand?
Why doom'd, so long escap'd from storms and foes,
Upon that strand thy dying eyes to close;
Remote each place by habit render'd dear,
Nor British friends nor Otaheitean near?
Vast tracts of ocean and untrodden shores;
Now views rude climes, where ice-rocks drear aspire,
Or red volcanos shoot their streams of fire:
Now seeks sweet isles, where lofty palm-groves wave,
And cany banks translucent rivers lave;
Where Plenty's gifts luxuriant load the soil,
And Ease reposes, charm'd with Beauty's smile.
273
Rose thy Ta-heitè's peaks and flowery plain;—
Why, daring Wanderer! quit that blissful land,
To seek new dangers on a barbarous strand?
Why doom'd, so long escap'd from storms and foes,
Upon that strand thy dying eyes to close;
Remote each place by habit render'd dear,
Nor British friends nor Otaheitean near?
Nor less than books the Engraver's works invite,
Where past and distant come before the sight;
Where, all the Painter's lively tints convey'd,
The skilful Copyist gives in light and shade:
While faithful views the prospect's charms display,
From coast to coast, and town to town, we stray;
While faithful portraits human features trace,
We gaze delighted on the speaking face;
Survey the port that bards and heroes bore,
Or mark the smiles that high-born beauties wore.
Where past and distant come before the sight;
Where, all the Painter's lively tints convey'd,
The skilful Copyist gives in light and shade:
While faithful views the prospect's charms display,
From coast to coast, and town to town, we stray;
While faithful portraits human features trace,
We gaze delighted on the speaking face;
Survey the port that bards and heroes bore,
Or mark the smiles that high-born beauties wore.
274
Cease these to please? Philosophy attends
With arts where knowledge with diversion blends;
The Sun's vast system in a model shows;
Bids the clear lens new forms to sight expose;
Constructs machines, whose wond'rous powers declare
The effects of light, and properties of air;
With whirling globes excites electric fires,
And all their force and all their use inquires.
O Nature! how immense thy secret store,
Beyond what ev'n a Priestley can explore!
With arts where knowledge with diversion blends;
The Sun's vast system in a model shows;
Bids the clear lens new forms to sight expose;
Constructs machines, whose wond'rous powers declare
The effects of light, and properties of air;
With whirling globes excites electric fires,
And all their force and all their use inquires.
O Nature! how immense thy secret store,
Beyond what ev'n a Priestley can explore!
Such, Friend, the employments may his time divide,
Whom rural shades from scenes of business hide;
While o'er his ear unnotic'd glide away
The noise and nonsense of the passing day !
Whom rural shades from scenes of business hide;
While o'er his ear unnotic'd glide away
The noise and nonsense of the passing day !
| The Poetical Works of John Scott | |