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Kew Garden

A poem. In Two Cantos. By Henry Jones

Jones, Henry (1721-1770)

[epigraph]

II.

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To Her GRACE the Dutchess of Northumberland.

KEW GARDEN.

[CANTO I.]

Hail to the spot, where Britain's laurel springs
With stem renew'd, and rears its growth to heaven;
What moral beauties, in their classic robe
Transparent, thus in regal state express'd,
With sweet benevolence enchant my soul?
What new creation rises to my view?
Where niggard nature every boon denied;
Where earth and water, with ungenial bent,
To form and taste, and order seem'd averse.
What powerful Fiat call'd this Eden forth,
Like that first paradise from chaos form'd,
And o'er the waste a beauteous world bid rise?
Behold a youthful king's coeval home!

A British monarch's best-lov'd natal bower,
Who cultivates the spot that gave him birth,
And crowns the scene his infant toils began,
By taste, by wisdom, and by truth inspir'd;
The guardian genius of his dawning thought,
Who wide disclos'd to wisdom's sacred ray
The eager inlets of his ample mind,
And pour'd upon each opening mental cell,
The virtue-forming scientific beam,
With letter'd and religious radiance fill'd,
The fair expanses of his princely soul,
And taught it early on the world to shine;
Who rear'd the monarch, and who form'd the man.
'Twas he who's penetrating plastic eye,
Whose copious, clear, and comprehensive thought,
By moral beauty and by genius led,
Where taste and learning mark'd th'unerring line;
'Twas he reform'd the rude enormous sketch,
To order, beauty, harmony and ease,
And crown'd with classic grace the kingly plan;
Where every transcript of a copious soul,
With strong attraction charms the judging eye;
And penetrates with sweet propriety,
The heart susceptible, the feeling string
Congenial stretch'd by beauty's hand impress'd,

And rich variety, where order reigns,
Who reads with raptur'd appetite regal'd
And feasted faculty, much more than strikes
The vague external sense by taste unschool'd,
And lectures vainly to the vulgar eye.

Hail happy princess! fruitful source whence all
Our lasting hopes through ages yet unborn,
In shining copious streams propitious flow,
To Britons glad prophetic sight; to thee,
To thee, this glowing garden offers up
Thy royal son's sublime unspotted vows;
To thee he consecrates his kingly taste,
With raptur'd thought and talents all inspir'd,
And daily with the lov'd idea glows.
I see the rising years in white array,
And distant periods wait his promis'd rule.
Lo! Time exults, and in his joyful march,
Behold the blessings of a British reign.
See Peace triumphant with her olive branch,
A glorious peace led on by victory,
With all the trophies crown'd of either world;
See Britain lift o'er both her laurell'd head;
Now wanton Plenty pours her teeming horn;
Now ruddy Health with naked bosom bounds,

Now taste shall thrive, now arts sublime shall tower;
Now godlike science in perfection reign;
Proud sculpture now with nature shall contend
For breathing mastery, and picture snatch
The palm from life; the muse again shall live;
Now she who imitates the plan divine,
That queen of all the arts, who crowns the earth
With stately piles, and rears her front to heav'n,
Now she once more the Grecian garb shall wear,
In Attic purity and pomp array'd,
And put the chastest Roman beauties on;
A British Cæsar shall exalt her stile,
With vestal purity and manly fire,
And finish what Augustus left undone;
A new Virtruvius near his side shall shine
Beneath his smile, and rival him of old;
Athens to Britain now shall yield the prize,
And Rome through envy turn the face aside.

Lo yonder moves with aweful port erect,
And sweet majestic mien, our youthful king;
How meek through all the monarch shines the man;
How comely clemency in him must reign,
Herself an angel, yet by him adorn'd.
The raptur'd muse her regal guide attends

At aweful distance due, with throbbing heart,
Triumphant to yon mild attractive shade,
Where heaven-born Peace from her ambrosial fane,
First beckons with inviting hand, the eye,
With melting mien triumphant, yet compos'd,
With meekness mix'd, with fortitude, with sweet
Humanity, with mercy tempering all;
Where prostrate kings their richest incense bring,
And human nature lifts the thankful eye
To heaven, and George, and Europe heals her wound.

Hail happy Peace, thou late celestial guest,
Who bore upon thy smooth-extended wing,
Thro' heav'n's wide-opening gate, that branch that springs
Immortal, near the mercy seat of God!
Oh gentle Peace! how calm is thy retreat?
Thy fruitful olives in the mildest gale,
Securely wave their green ambrosial heads,
And all the blossoms of the world are here;
Thy temple fortified with fragrant groves,
And blushing burden'd boughs, no storm need fear;
The murmuring zephyrs waft no rude report,
And all the whispering messages they bring,
On evening pinions, from autumnal skies

To Pleasure's ear, are social, kind, and sweet,
And every clime its richest growth sends here.

Through labyrinths of ever-living green,
By crimson roses intermingled sweet;
Where art and nature must incessant vie;
Behold the King delighted onward bends,
Like Pan, or Ceres, or Pomona glad,
Amidst the blessings which his reign bestows.

And lo! the sun's bright temple strikes the eye,
Parent of arts, to peace for ever near;
Thy gorgeous pile in orient pomp ascends,
In complex grandeur and luxuriant stile,
In gay Corinthian robe, sublime array'd,
The boast of Greece by British taste improv'd;
By kindred symbols temperately emblaz'd
That paraphrase, but not surcharge thy pure
Entablature from ancient Balbec brought,
In letter'd taste's discriminating hand,
By ripe experience in her travel'd grasp;
Thy bright specific character shall shine
Like some refulgent new discover'd star,
That gilds the forehead of the northern sky,

And strikes the feasted sight with glad suprize;
In rich alcoves the golden beams are lodg'd,
That travel slowly round this shining frame,
In semblant progress of the rolling year;
How apt upon the figur'd freeze are seen
Above thy lofty capitals display'd,
In sweet relief, thy own harmonious lyre,
And laurel meed, thy attributes confess'd;
Thy gilded gates unfold! thy crimson cell,
And burnish'd cove, now blaze upon the sight
With dazzling radiance, and delight the soul;
Whilst in thy vertic hemisphere inthron'd,
Above these twelve comparted signs that form
The figur'd windings of thy annual road,
Thy own refulgent globe supremely shines
With noontide ray, and gladdens all beneath.

And see the vegetating joyful glebe,
Around the basis of thy fertile fane,
Offer the fragrant firstlings of the year;
See a whole season round thy portals smile,
And heaven and earth thy genial courts adorn.

With hospitable thought from this lov'd fane,
The muse must turn her tardy step aside,

From Nature's genuine source awhile withdraw,
To visit Art in her laborious cells;
That fost'ring nurse that rears those orphans up,
From regions far remote beyond the burning line,
From Indian gardens, and from Eden's groves,
To Britain's cold adopting elimate brought;
Nor there shall die, nor disappoint his hope,
Whose patriot heart and powerful hand are stretch'd
From pole to pole for happy Britain's good;
Who brings these denizens of nature, health
And pleasure, home, and makes them flourish here;
Who reads their essence with a learned eye,
And scans each quality beneath the moon,
Of all the tribes that summer's livery wear,
And verge so near perception's shrinking class,
From the first pale postilion of the spring,
The primrose meek, to Jove's own plant sublime,
The princely oak and cedar tall, that crown
The top of Lebanon with fragrant state,
His philosophic feast, his pure regale,
The soul's best banquet, when from care set free.

Delightful luxury by virtue lov'd,
Would Britain make the great example her's,
And sanctify expence by wisdom's rule,

Nor lavish treasure, time, and life away,
At worship'd Folly's fascinating shrine,
That painted harlot, whose ensnaring glance
Draws in all ranks to her infected fane,
By custom crowded, and by fools ador'd
Beneath a thousand gaudy masks, put on
By frantic modes, and fashion's wasteful hand.

Hail fragrant guests! each privilege enjoy,
That royal hospitality can give;
Disclose your virtues, and your worth reveal,
Give sense, and taste, and Esculapius aid;
And what our cloudy heaven too oft denies,
Our feeble suns remote, and stinted dews,
Let fost'ring art, and rich prolific warmth
Supply, that glow through labyrinths of kind,
Insinuating, gentle steams, that ooze,
Emitted through ten thousand million pores,
Which breathing spread like heaven's ethereal gale,
The principles of vegetating life,
And teeming energy around, as from
Some genial atmosphere in Nature's prime;
Here heat, from animating fountains drawn,
From vital reservoirs, that like the heart,
Send circulating life and growth to all,

Above, below, around, reflex, repell'd,
With out-stretch'd arms, in winding warm embrace.
Ah! see what learned systems to supply
Thy simple ray, thou regent of the world.

And lo! the fresh relieving welcome air
Invited in, from all the wide expanse
Of heaven, with every fruitful quality
Endued, that Britain's atmosphere can give;
The rushing visitant immediate feels
The kind reception in its warping way,
From cell to cell with different warmth replete,
And mingles joyful with the mass it chears.
Whilst over head the envious sun reviews
A richer harvest than his beams can give,
And from his proud meridian lofty frowns
Upon thy prostrate skies and sliding hemispheres.

Behold both Indies in their varied pride,
With Europe's paler progenies contend,
These specimens of paradise that glow,
Like nature's candidates for beauty's palm,
With pure unborrow'd splendor richly dress'd,
That shame the gildings a birth night glare,
In colours stolen from yon celestial bow

When painted first, and angels mix'd the tints
With aromatic fragrance, that might bribe
The organs of the bless'd, and win the vote of heav'n.

The rododendron, mountain laurel, there,
That blends its blushes with the cheek of June,
And makes our painted summer still more proud,
Preserves, like florid youth, its morning glow,
'Till frighted by the fading year's decline,
A timid pale o'erspreads the crimson bloom,
That in its later stages whiter grows,
Like chearful age in snowy blossoms clad,
That wears a second season on its head,
And looks more pleasing in the recent change,
When the rich roses to the lillies yield,
And beauty's banner in the process shines,
By wise Columbus' northern empire lov'd,
From thence to Britain's fostering arms transfer'd.

See next the latifolia, kindred plant,
With counter beauties mark the varied scene
In lively red, in scarlet mantle priz'd,
That blooms illustrious in the sunny ray,
And glads the bright assemblies of the year,
Like sprightly youth in vivid colours clad,

The radiant robe of light's exulting morn,
Put on by Fancy in its fervid dance,
When led by Vigour through the wanton maze,
'Till grave Reflection, with her thoughtful tinge,
And sober drapery, deepens every dye,
And late to purple honours changes all.

The mirto there from hot Jamaica comes,
Pimento call'd, with spicy fragrance bless'd,
A foe to flatulence and vapours crude,
Whose essence warm dispels th'imprison'd pest,
And opens wide the gate to health and joy,
By Europe honour'd, and by learning lov'd.

Banana next, sustaining plant, behold,
In rich Arabia born, with all its virtues fraught,
That vital manna of the Western Ind,
The bread of millions shed from Nature's hand,
And worship'd daily by the numerous isles
That skirt America's immense domain.

Lo saccharum rich, that teeming tube, up-grows,
That luscious fountain of perpetual sweets,
By artful luxury inlisted still
In all her venial weak attacks on life,

That oft invites th'unguarded palate on
To weightier conflicts and more dangerous war,
Innoxious yet, and yet a friend to man;
The muse 'mongst Nature's gifts must rank it high,
And with her numbers deck the dulcet cane,
That to both Indies owes its boasted birth,
And fills the coffers of the public weal.

Behold the sapient stem put fertile forth
The sober berry, whose sagacious fume
Inspires deep thought, and technical debate,
And learned descant, and mysterious lore,
The dreams of statesmen, and the thoughts of kings,
That checks th'unruly grape's seditious steam,
And keeps the citadel of reason cool,
O'er whose wise flavour and polemic smoke
The ardent sages in close groupes oft sit,
And turn in warm campaigns the evening o'er,
To settle kingdoms, and dispel the spleen.

See coronilla, though Iberian born,
A match for Boreas on his Northern throne,
Display its ensigns o'er the wintry waste,
And with its blossoms brave the blustering year.

Lo next gardenio florido, from forth
Its treasur'd leaves unlocks Arabia;
The Cape's rich jessamin, whose fragrance fills
The blissful groves around, and joyful skies.

Magnolia too, the dulcet bay-tree nam'd,
In gay alliance mingles all its stores.
And sheds its essence o'er the neighbouring woods;
Itself a season in its flow'ry pride,
America its soil, the sun its sire.

From the far Cape of Hope diosmo comes,
And on the breeze throws open every cell,
Made rich by sweet adopted essences
Serene imbib'd, and odours not its own.

And see, the red and white azalia brings
Its aromatic forces to the field,
And joins its beauty with the bless'd allies.
Argenta see, in silver foliage broad,
With cooling glimmer in the fervid gale,
Refresh the sated eye, and cheer the soul,
That from the Cape its milder mantle brings.

Lo last the camphire tree! that magazine,
When by the touch enforc'd, an atmosphere
Sends all abroad of every fragrant gale,
That sense can banquet, or the heart enjoy;
From China's spicy shore this stranger comes,
To animate Britannia's distant sky.

The ravish'd muse o'ercome with rich regales,
With Nature's miscellaneous stores combin'd,
Through different climates measures back her way,
Through climates different as the plants they bear;
Where every stranger finds his native home,
And blooms as if beneath parental skies;
Amidst congenial essences it sprung,
In sweet spontaneous beds by art uncall'd,

The muse abroad now joyful breathes once more
Her native atmosphere, whose simple gale
Each loaded faculty delighted cheers,
By aromatic fragrance overcome,
The breath of paradise; and now athwart,
The broad domain that skirts this treasure house,
Of all that East, and West, and South can yield,
To yonder gate by beauty beckon'd on,
She joyful bends her hasty step intent.

And lo a flourish'd portico enrich'd,
That wears th'embroidery of the Queen it guards,
Where Fancy on her vernal throne presides
O'er all the colours of the painted year,
That charm th'affections, and deceive the eye;
Oh sweet inchantment, never feel decay;
Is beauty too a visionary bliss?
Do lovers languish for a fairy dream?
Are lilies living in the virgin face?
Are roses mingling with their whiteness there?
Ah sweet illusions all! are these unreal?
Are these the phantoms of a magic spell?
So stern Philosophy severe affirms,
With shrunk abstracted eye, and iron soul;
But nature to the heart so close akin,
Smiles in her face, her mystic frown defies,
To beauty clings, and her cold creed abhors.

Behold a heaven of rich variety,
A royal flower ground enamell'd high
With all that Ormus, India, or that Pontus lend
To British gardens in the pride of June;
Their names are needless, for their charms are known;
How complicated in their radiant beds!
Like earthly constellations they appear,

In all the painter's art of light and shade,
And just compartments mystic, rich and pure,
And breathing pictures in the spring of life,
That load with freitage sweet the passing gale,
To barter incense with Arabia's breeze,
That richer by the precious change might grow,
Though all its wealth were wafted on its wings;
Select embroidery carpetting the ground,
Where queens oft tread, and goddesses might move.
A range of stately trees on either side,
These tender florid families defend
From wintry insults, and the hostile year,
Like beauty shelter'd by th'unbending laws
From ruffian rage, and violating hands.

Invited still by sweet variety,
The feasted soul's unsatiating regale,
The raptur'd muse impatient presses on
From charm to charm, attracted still, with still
Increasing force, from nature's local sweets,
That please the sense, but interest not the heart,
To life, to energy, to intellect,
And motion from the will spontateous sprung,
To quick perception, spirit, sense, and choice,
And mental faculty by these express'd;

Where shape, and air, and symmetry divine,
And rays reflected from the source of thought,
That beam intuitive throughout the eye,
The speaking eye, that window of the mind;
That vigour, life, and grace diffuse o'er all,
And give to beauty and her shapes a soul;
Ah see in glittering tribes successive shine
The vivid offspring of the genial god;
These children of the sun, in rainbows rob'd,
Whose sportive pinion in the morning beam
Imbib'd the beauties of the brightest dawn,
When Nature wanton'd, and when Time was young;
The orient pheasant, bird of paradise,
That second phœnix, livery'd o'er with light,
In all the tinges that the prism yields,
When Newton's hand unfolds the robe of day,
And pours bright wonders on the dazzled sight,
With pride around their elegant domain,
Like earthly cherubims rejoic'd they run,
And bask in kingly George's bounteous beam;
In tints as different as their different climes,
They charm alternately the ravish'd eye,
By turns displaying as they glittering pass,
In beautiful extremes that joy the heart;
The costly mixtures, green, and red, and gold,

That East and West and Indian mines can yield,
The rising and the setting sun bestow'd;
Whilst o'er the margins of the crystal pool,
With vegetating gay mosaic crown'd,
(For earth and water here their charms unite)
Their glistering shapes as in a mirrour seen,
To the bright surface call the finny train,
By envy struck at such bespangled coats,
Like jealous beauties at a splendid show,
They vindicate their elemental pride,
In gay comparisons oppose their own,
With gold bedrop'd, and gems, and scarlet dyes,
In rival radiance mingling ray with ray.

And now from sight the soul has had her fill,
With colour, motion, shape and life replete;
A thousand seasons in them sounds I hear,
Nature's whole concert pouring on my sense,
Exotic harmony, Hesperian bands,
With both the Indies mix'd, where all agree.
Beneath an artificial hemisphere,
By Taste's own hand extended far and wide,
By royal hospitality uprear'd,
They bask in plenty, nor regret their own,
And thankful chaunt their kingly patron's praise;

And though not native, yet their charming song
On Greenland's frozen waste would find a friend;
Let merit still, though born beneath the pole,
Near Britain's genial monarch meet a home.

Lo now through this digressive devious path,
That outward leads my slow abstracted step
From forth this episode of richest charms,
A wide extended comely continent,
A cultivated world at once appear
In epic unity sublime and grandeur form'd,
Where lawns, and copious plains, and palaces,
And hills, and vales, and stately trees and groves,
And flocks and fragrant bowers, and silver lakes,
By taste and harmony together mix'd,
Compose the glorious groupe! Thou soul of all,
Exhilarating water! joyful guest!
Thou fertile source, that voluntary cam'st
From earth's irriguous womb, and animat'st
The garden! thou that all the wide-spread lake
With never-failing copious streams supply'st,
Thou, thou the muse's first attention claim
With just pretence, and first demand her song!
Thou pride and charm of all th'enchanting plan,
Which dignifies, adorns, and gives the groupe

Its vigour, source of vegetable life,
And vernal beauty, Flora's fruitful nurse,
Thou nectar of her many-colour'd sons,
Ambrosial sons, thou cordial of the spring,
Thy stimulating virtue yet was not.—
This new creation languish'd yet for thee,
The wounded earth was oft explor'd in vain,
In vain her inmost vitals oft explor'd,
Nor rich exhilarating stream was found,
Where panting Taste her feverish thirst might cool,
And quench at once her ardent appetite;
The destin'd moment labour'd into birth,
The royal blooming babe, the Prince our hope,
Our dawning hope, now like the vernal year
Ascending, or the morning star benign;
The Prince himself was then alone inspir'd,
His watchful angel ministring unseen,
With guiding influence in the garb of chance,
By innocent and artless agents led,
Reveal'd the welcome visitant to sight,
And chear'd the thirsty glebe; a beauteous fawn,
That fearful fed upon the flowery mead,
Luxuriant, Nature's denizen alone,
Unciviliz'd as yet by human bribes,

Nor yet domestic made, came bounding up,
With fond familiar gaze; admiring still,
Still nearer to the smiling Prince he came,
Then stretching forth his taper neck, in act
Of courtesy, and mildest homage, meek,
As if by gratitude and reason taught,
He gently touch'd, he kindly kiss'd his hand,
Then oft step'd forward, and as oft return'd,
Then gambol'd round, and kiss'd again his hand,
As if on some important message sent,
Which he by earnest and expressive deed
Would willingly make known.
Now to a rich-wove thicket in a vale,
Where water-loving willows all around
With vigorous verdure grew; with guiding step,
She led him bounding on, and oft return'd,
Beseeching still, where reason seem'd to plead.
The Prince with wonder struck and sweet surprize,
His earnest, mute, persuasive guide, pursu'd,
Quick through the fragrant path by jessamins,
And intermingling roses arched o'er,
Which clustered round his beauteous face with pride,
And kindly kiss'd his crimson cheeks with love,
With seeming love, and extasy inspir'd;

When lo! that instant to his wond'ring sight,
From forth the gushing glebe, a fountain rich,
A new-born fountain rose, and water'd all
The fainting flowers around with copious rills,
And promis'd to his future hopes a lake;
Whilst on a youthful laurel near his side,
Fast by the hallow'd well, a nightingale,
With thrilling transport charm'd his list'ning ear,
And seem'd to celebrate the mystic spring.

Lo now the long-extended liquid plain,
With glassy face meandring bright, and broad,
That still absorbs, and still gives back the scene,
Refreshing still, and still embracing all;
That full-grown daughter of the sacred well,
In full perfection, like its princely Lord,
Partaking still, and still diffusing health,
And bloom, and elegance, and joy around,
The pride of nature and the boast of art.

Where shall the muse begin her song, or end,
Amidst a multitude of beauties lost,
A vast variety of charming themes!
Here high and low, here great and small unite,

Here true magnificence, and seeming scant,
Here princely state, and rustic plainness verge,
In sweet vicinity for ever fix'd,
For ever distant and for ever near,
In one accomplish'd, one distinguish'd all.

But yon descending sun with setting ray
Instructs the muse to cease her much-lov'd song;
Unwilling she obeys, and seeks the dome,
Where due repose and genial joys unite,
And means to meet among the groves at early dawn.

CANTO II.

Again the morning calls the muse abroad,
In heart-reviving radiant garb array'd,
Which bribes the soul through ev'ry raptur'd sense,
And ravish'd fancy to her charms invites;
Again the muse enjoys the orient queen,
With fragrant tresses dipt in virgin dew,
Her rosy bosom deck'd with pearls from heaven,
Those tears rich shedding from the infant dawn,
New born, whose eye drops gems on Flora's mantle,
Her mantle green, with purple mix'd, with gold,
With heaven-wrought tints, by blushing April worn,
In early sweets, in bridal beauty clad,
With modest step to meet the lusty May,
When rosy Summer wreaths her wedded arm
With crimson chaplets, and the festal year,
When new-dress'd Nature bids the world awake.

Again the sun lays out the gladsome scene
To Taste's enchanted view; the garden now
When eye-dethroning Night her pow'r withdraws
From earth and heav'n, when raptur'd vision reigns;
The garden now with morning rays renew'd,
Its robe reveals in all the sportive pride
Of livery'd Spring's prolific genius, wrought
In her own various and delightful bloom,
Her vernal web, and pours abroad its wealth;
And now the flocks, with humid fleeces rich,
With gilded backs beneath the slanting beam,
With nibbling step, slow stretching by degrees,
In random march, still feeding as they stray,
Eager athwart the misty mantled lawn
Ascend with devious tardy step the hills,
Made rich by staple wealth, and whiten all the sides.

The many-peopled lake, loquacious now,
And all alive, appears; the clamorous tribes
Now bask exulting on the sunny banks,
With voices different as their different plumes,
A motley Babel, yet in social bands,
The notes are various, but the song the same,
One ardent joy through every language speaks,
In amorous descant, whilst they prune their state,

On tip-toe now with out-stretch'd pinions stand,
Now wanton dash amidst the scatt'ring wave,
With vary'd clang, and clap the wat'ry wing.

So when wild party-colour'd factions struck
Their strife-inspiring standards down, by pride
Upheld so long, seditious baleful flags!
And laid their ensigns low at George's feet,
That glorious victory of his opening reign,
Fell Discord then through all her mouths was chang'd
To sounds reciprocal of in-bred joy;
Her jarring dialects to social mirth
Were sudden turn'd in one harmonious hymn,
Sweet concord reign'd, and every heart was glad.

The joyful sun now gains with fervid wheel
Upon the steep of heaven with gradual speed,
And leaves the rosy-tinctur'd dawn behind;
And see, our youthful Monarch like the morn
Advanc'd, in blooming majesty benign,
And aweful port, our guardian angel bright,
Like Milton's Raphael, meek array'd and mild,
Amongst the joyful trees resplendent move,
With godlike air, and high behest from heaven,
The friend of man, and Britain's pride ador'd;

Lo, near his side, close to his royal breast,
Behold the partner of his heart and throne,
His much-lov'd queen in Virtue's attribute
Array'd, with soft connubial grace adorn'd,
By merit lifted, and by aid divine,
To that exalted, that imperial height,
The fruitful mother of a race of kings,
That shall Britannia's lenient scepter wield
With righteous hand, in long hereditary
Most happy line, their people's fathers bless'd;
Lo, with what sanctity serene, what sweet
Vivacity, what penetrating mild
Attractive eye, what energy humane,
And meek deport, with winning grace benign;
She captivates Britannia's sanguine wish,
By virtue charm'd, and George's raptur'd soul!
Oh see th'illustrious, royal, happy pair,
With genuine dignity, and heart-felt joy,
With mutual bliss, and raptur'd step, draw near;
In either princely hand a blooming babe
Behold, in beauteous miniature express'd,
Of sweetest majesty and manly grace,
And florid vigour, beaming life and health,
And joy, the father's image, and the mother's bliss;
Their pledge of rapture, and Britannia's pride;

Before the new born fragrance yet unfelt,
And new-born blooms arise, the garden's gifts
To its royal Master, and its Mistress meek
Rich offered up the tribute of the morn,
The music of the grove with ten-fold force
And sweet extatic harmony ascends,
From bush, from brake, from thicket, branch and tree,
And wide-spread wilderness made vocal now,
Whilst Echo answers every artless note
From her responsive cell, and Nature hails
The King, with all her denizens of air,
In one irregular Pindaric voice,
Pour'd forth at once through twice ten thousand throats,
That raptur'd chaunt the miscellanenous hymn,
Congenial choristers, in British bands,
Unbounded prodigals of earth and sky,
Those libertin's of song, by Nature taught.

Now art and elegance by slow degrees
Abate with gradual step their gorgeous train,
Yet there proud Victory her temple rears
Upon a lofty hill conspicuous seen,
From whose high ridge, by pleasing toil attain'd,
An image of our conquest wide appears,
Our added empire, and our Indian world,

In letter'd taste, and joyful stile adorn'd;
The just, embellish'd, beauteous frame behold,
That speaks the finish'd master's manly thought,
In emblematic trophies that display
Britannia's glory, and the vanquish'd Gaul,
Whilst aweful ruin pleading in her view,
Draws forth the tear from her triumphant eye,
And shews the horrid marks of wasteful war;
Nature in russet robe magnificent
Appears devoid of art, and mark the path
Through which she leads, by wisdom pointed out
With moral finger to the learned eye,
Where virtue, taste, and truth, and art combine,
In one pathetic, and instructive theme,
Where Pride may sigh, and Socrates grow wise.
How apt this aweful monitor is fix'd,
At Fancy's fervid and luxuriant feast,
By firm philosophy's restraining hand,
To damp delight, and give reflection room!
What solemn, sacred, sad remains are these,
The skeleton of Greece and Rome confus'd,
The mournful relics of a world laid waste,
Where Vanity may wring her cheated hands,
And weeping Pomp her spurious pride regret!

Lo, there her high-rais'd idol long ador'd,
Where e'er the Roman eagles wing'd their flight,
Ambition's premium, a triumphal arch,
By Truth, by Time, struck down for ever; lo,
Thou lofty boaster, and thou prostrate lye,
Thy haughty forehead erst was deep engrav'd
With story'd insolence, and classic vaunt,
That rich related on thy proud expanse,
Thy arched arrogance, thy scornful crest,
Thy figur'd attributes, thy breathing forms,
This long rever'd, this false prophetic tale,
That Rome, imperial Rome, should never die;
Ah! where is now thy boasted evidence,
Thy proud report, that spread from pole to pole,
And made the world, the bleeding world subscribe?
Look there how contradicted in the dust,
Beneath the foot of trampling Time it lies,
In blank confusion, like some coward caught
Behind the mask of promis'd fortitude,
And daring soul,—how abject in thy fall!
Ambition, blush, behold thy trumpeter,
Thy haughty herald, once thy stately boast,
Retract in mouldering fragments on the ground
The long exulting lofty narrative,
And preaching meekness to the eye of kings.

How happy here hath taste and sense struck out
The melting topic from the sad extreme,
Where fancy decorates the mournful scene,
And chance to genius lends her moral mask!
How greedy Time destroys the Attic grace,
And makes, alas! the Roman grandeur dust!
Is this the image of the world's great queen?
Did Scipio fight, did Julius bleed for this?
Th'ingrafted weed, the kindred nettle now,
With friendly growth, would fain conceal its plight
From satire's eye, and hide it from the world;
And lo, the inmate owl and twilight bat
Are all the tenants of this moral pile.

Ah! see yon weeping muse in marble stand
Amidst a heap of rude distorted things,
An aggregate of discord wild and waste,
Where sacred relics of old Greece and Rome,
Which Gothic arrogance could never brook
Before her keen discriminating eye,
Were swallow'd quick within th'abortive gulph,
Where life ingorg'd the desecrated grave,
And breathing grace 'midst horrid lumber lay;
That charnel house of elegance long lost,
Where mutilated forms were frequent trod,

Like human limbs that once express'd a soul,
With buried genius destin'd yet to rise.
Lo! nettles, briars through rough fragments spread,
That choak the laurel with their Vandal growth;
For still the kindred laurel would be near
The muse immortal, tho' by time o'erlaid,
Where beauty beams through lineaments divine,
And Phidias emulates the gods in skill,
Tho' there condemn'd with jarring forms to mix,
Like heavenly music by a storm o'erwhelm'd,
Or virtue by the savage world oppress'd;
Let greatness pause, and cast one look behind;
In this must all that retrospect be lost.
Could Pompey see his theatre like this,
Could Athens view Minerva's temple now,
How much abash'd must human pride appear!
How mortify'd at what she vainly wooes!

What accidental scars in playful mood
The tyrant Time, with slow fantastic hand,
Inflicts!—What gashes here his casual scythe
Hath made, when mowing down some greater world
Than Rome, amongst the stars, perhaps, and states
Unknown, whose influence reaches here! And lo!
Yon bending pillar, mouldering arch half dropp'd,
Yon venerable broken limbs above,

These awful fragments on the ground below,
Where mimic choice, chaotic chance excels,
In hoary rude wreck-scatt'ring anarch skill,
That copies Time's o'er-turning stroke so well,
And mocks the majesty of falling worlds!
Where Taste on ruin builds her shapeless throne,
With uncreating hand, with artless art,
Curtain'd by wisdom-teaching random weeds,
That wildly grow with reverential gloom,
These robes of state that moral Fancy wears;
All these with mournful voice aloud declare,
That Virtue only shall outshine the stars;
How well hath Art at once display'd in this,
Her own deceitful glory and disgrace!

The muse from grave reflection's level path
Excursive soars on vent'rous wing sublime,
Where Fancy plumes, and Pleasure prompts her flight,
Amidst a maze of many winding forms,
That seem a labyrinth like that of life,
Laid down imprompt by semblant chance with vague
Contingent hand, where perfect plan, and wise
Design at every turn still meets the eye,
And manifest the mystic thread that runs
In regular disguise throughout the whole.

Lo there Augusta's theatre exalted stands,
With out-stretch'd arms in rich Corinthian robe
Array'd, in soft attractive attitude,
That seems to welcome and embrace with fond
Parental joy, the royal happy pair,
Where seated now, with mild indulgence crown'd,
They feast the filial heart, and glad the soul;
In elegance serene, and finish'd stile,
This aweful edifice the fancy strikes,
Expressive emblem of the royal dame,
For whose repose and rational delight
The perfect pile in comely grace arose,
That pours the garden on the raptur'd eye,
And every charming incident displays.

In opposition rude, and contrast strong,
The temple of the winds, and boisterous god,
Behold, whom fiction form'd to curb their rage,
Or let them loose against the frighted world
To tear up Nature from her center'd grasp,
And lift old Chaos to his throne once more;
See there obedient to the gentlest hand,
The proud Eolian temple turns around,
Persuaded by one powerful spring unseen,
Like reason piloting the excursive will,
When passion yields, and prudence sways the helm;

This headstrong deity will facile prove,
Whose breath gives glory to Britannia's flag,
By George's hand invincible display'd.

An Eastern king the tall pagoda stands,
In China's striking symbols, strong express'd,
Whose gaudy grandeur seems to reach the skies,
And overlooks with stately growth the whole;
So stands the cedar tall, or lofty oak,
Above the wide extended various wood,
That when compar'd to them, a coppice seems;
The aweful base projects an hospitable shade
Against the torrid ray at summer's noon
Shot down direct, and friendly shelter from
The fierce Atlantic blast, when winter shakes
The world, and mingles majesty with use;
In hostile symbols see this monarch mark'd,
Where gilded dragons guard his lofty pride,
And beauty blends with terror ev'ry grace,
Which looks at best but like a tyrant's smile,
When fear divides the doubtful palm with joy,
And Nature shudders at the shining pest,
Or weeps her own sad attributes laid waste.

But oh! how different is the prospect here,
When winding gradual through th'interior orb,

At ev'ry breathing pause new wonders rise,
That wider still at every joyful step,
And wider grow, like science to the soul,
Expanding all the climax of her charms,
In just degrees by pleasing toil attain'd
And slow, to bless th'ambitious sage's eye,
With reason's rich horizon vast display'd,
And manifest the works of God to man.
Now to the hard-gain'd glorious top arriv'd,
With toil-forgetting step, and throbbing heart,
Let gratitude, and joy, and fancy fill
With elegant excess the feasted soul,
Where Freedom all the lavish banquet spreads,
Beneath the smile of monarchy well poiz'd,
Where mankind thrive, and kings resemble heaven.

Descending thence o'er gradual hill and vale,
In easy undulating surface bold,
That sink and rise in sweet alternate forms,
Like ocean's face in friendly tumult mix'd
By lively breezes in a summer's morn,
Or music floating on the skilful ear,
Serene enjoy'd, or beauty's bending line,
That charms the clear illucidated eye,

When elegance attracts th'enamour'd soul,
By Fancy in her Protean scene display'd.

This intermediate paradise o'erpast,
The mooned mosque with sharp exotic air,
And mingled character severe upstands,
Where heterogeneous stiles grotesque combine
To frame this temple of discordant shapes,
That like the worship in its walls contain'd,
Is fill'd with rhapsody, and wild extreme;
What novelty the striking pile affords,
Amidst the aggregates of Greece and Rome!

In serpentine revolves that gently draw
With sweet inticing slopes th'inchanted step,
By unperceiv'd degrees, from bliss to bliss,
Secreted from the plain and simple path,
In deep digression, lo, a Gothic pile,
In solemn levity obscure involv'd,
And proud implicit shape assails the eye,
And yet with more of chearful taste display'd,
And open candid symmetry express'd,
Than oft that grove-like gloomy pile affords,
Whose dusky, close-contracted, pillar'd isles,

Like ranged trees with interwoven tops,
In vegetating vaults compact appear,
That shut out day, and darken every thought,
Whose very essence seems at first contriv'd
To thicken terror, and embody fear.

And lo, what miracles of art o'erspread
The mystic walls within! what quaint illusion
Mocks the believing eye! whose fairy shade
A rounded substance seems, when cheated touch
With disappointed wonder backward starts,
And thinks perspective's power a magic spell,
As erst Æneas in th'Elisian grove
A fleeting phantom for his father clasp'd,
Delusion grateful to the master's eye,
That yields new trophies to his wizard art,
Where fallacy a moral sanction claims,
Who flings o'er falshood's form the robe of truth,
And Error's hoary head respectful makes.

Oh where shall beauty stop her bright career,
Or elegance the panting heart absolve,
Still stretching forward in a fairy maze,
And progress sweet, delightful to the eye!
I see her pure attractive graces grow
In quick succession, changing still their form.

With pensive aspect and pathetic mien,
The weeping willow 'midst the joyful tribes,
With drooping tresses, near the water's brink,
Still seems to shed the philosophic tear,
Like Persia's king, that o'er his millions mourn'd,
When grave reflection dimm'd his dazzled pride,
And temper'd glory with a thoughtful cast.

Inchanting goddess, rich Variety,
How beautiful thy finish'd forms appear!
When Nature's mirror, polish'd by the hand
Of Taste, reflects thy finest attitudes
Upon the eye of art, whose happy hand
A picture makes that's fit to please in heaven,
Where genius, sense, and taste, and Bute are seen,
To chear Britannia's heart, and George's princely soul.

Go forth, great King, from charm to charm regale,
From ev'ry incident extracting still,
With deep sagacious ken, and raptur'd taste,
The soul's best booty, and the sweets of sense;
But see a prospect stretching to your view,
That fills the exulting eye with health and joy,
Success, felicity, and princely rule,
And public love, and virtue crowning all.

Go forth, illustrious Prince, with every virtue fraught,
Thy people's pride, and fill the copious scene,
Go forth, applauded by thy own good heart,
With conscious rapture by the world admir'd;
The world's too little for a soul like thine,
Its purest plaudits fade upon thine ear,
And all its triumphs vanish from thy sight,
An empty echo, viewless atom, lost
Amidst th'unbounded prospect virtue gives;
Yet still enjoy, adorn the transient scene,
Since wishing millions stand or fall with thee;
Let marble piles, let longer-living verse,
Record thy deeds, till Time himself is tir'd;
But thy ambition grapples with eternity;
When all the chequer'd scene of life is past
In pleasing dreams, when Virtue has her fill,
When many, many years have glided by
In downy circles sweet, with olive palms,
When all the destin'd happy space is past,
With all the thanks a grateful world can give,
A higher throne ascend, by angels wafted up,
When smiling Nature bids, and mingle with the stars.

FINIS.