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Trifles

... with several others, not more Considerable. The second edition. By R. Dodsley

Dodsley, Robert (1703-1764)

[epigraph]

VOL. I.

II.

VOL. II.

MELPOMENE:

AGRICULTURE.

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II. VOL. II.

MELPOMENE:

OR, The Regions of TERROR and PITY. AN ODE.

I

Queen of the human heart! at whose command
The swelling tides of mighty Passion rise;
Melpomene, support my vent'rous hand,
And aid thy suppliant in his bold emprise;
From the gay scenes of pride
Do thou his footsteps guide
To Nature's aweful courts, where nurst of yore,
Young Shakespear, Fancy's child, was taught his various lore.

II

So may his favour'd eye explore the source,
To few reveal'd, whence human sorrows charm:
So may his numbers, with pathetic force,
Bid Terror shake us, or Compassion warm,
As different strains controul
The movements of the soul;
Adjust its passions, harmonize its tone;
To feel for others' woe, or nobly bear its own.

III

Deep in the covert of a shadowy grove,
'Mid broken rocks where dashing currents play;
Dear to the pensive Pleasures, dear to Love,
And Damon's Muse, that breathes her melting lay,
This ardent prayer was made:
When lo! the secret shade,
As conscious of some heavenly presence, shook—
Strength, firmness, reason, all—my' astonish'd soul forsook.

IV

Ah! whither Goddess! whither am I borne?
To what wild region's necromantic shore?
These pannics whence? and why my bosom torn
With sudden terrors never felt before?
Darkness inwraps me round,
While from the vast profound
Emerging spectres dreadful shapes assume,
And gleaming on my sight, add horror to the gloom.

V

Ha! what is He whose fierce indignant eye,
Denouncing vengeance, kindles into flame?
Whose boisterous fury blows a storm so high,
As with its thunder shakes his labouring frame.
What can such rage provoke?
His words their passage choak:
His eager steps nor time nor truce allow,
And dreadful dangers wait the menace of his brow.

VI

Protect me, Goddess! whence that fearful shriek
Of consternation? as grim Death had laid
His icy fingers on some guilty cheek,
And all the powers of manhood shrunk dismay'd:
Ah see! besmear'd with gore
Revenge stands threatening o'er
A pale delinquent, whose retorted eyes
In vain for pity call—the wretched victim dies.

VII

Not long the space—abandon'd to despair,
With eyes aghast, or hopeless fix'd on earth,
This slave of passion rends his scatter'd hair,
Beats his sad breast, and execrates his birth:
While torn within he feels
The pangs of whips and wheels;
And sees, or fancies, all the fiends below,
Beckoning his frighted soul to realms of endless woe.

VIII

Before my wondering sense new phantoms dance,
And stamp their horrid shapes upon my brain—
A wretch with jealous brow, and eyes askance,
Feeds all in secret on his bosom pain.
Fond love, fierce hate assail;
Alternate they prevail:
While conscious pride and shame with rage conspire,
And urge the latent spark to flames of torturing fire.

IX

The storm proceeds—his changeful visage trace:
From Rage to Madness every feature breaks.
A growing phrenzy grins upon his face,
And in his frightful stare Distraction speaks:
His straw-invested head
Proclaims all reason fled;
And not a tear bedews those vacant eyes—
But songs and shouts succeed, and laughter-mingled sighs

X

Yet, yet again!—a Murderer's hand appears
Grasping a pointed dagger stain'd with blood!
His look malignant chills with boding fears,
That check the current of life's ebbing flood.
In midnight's darkest clouds
The dreary miscreant shrowds
His felon step—as 'twere to darkness given
To dim the watchful eye of all-pervading Heaven.

XI

And hark! ah Mercy! whence that hollow sound?
Why with strange horror starts my bristling hair?
Earth opens wide, and from unhallow'd ground
A pallid Ghost slow-rising steals on air.
To where a mangled corse
Expos'd without remorse
Lies shroudless, unentomb'd, he points the away—
Points to the prowling wolf exultant o'er his prey.

XII

“Was it for this, he cries, with kindly shower
“Of daily gifts the traitor I caress'd?
“For this, array'd him in the robe of power,
“And lodg'd my royal secrets in his breast?
“O kindness ill repay'd!
“To bare the murdering blade
“Against my life!—may Heav'n his guilt explore,
“And to my suffering race their splendid rights restore.”

XIII

He said, and stalk'd away.—Ah Goddess! cease
Thus with terrific forms to rack my brain;
These horrid phantoms shake the throne of peace,
And Reason calls her boasted powers in vain:
Then change thy magic wand,
Thy dreadful troops disband,
And gentler shapes, and softer scenes disclose,
To melt the feeling heart, yet soothe its tenderest woes.

XIV

The fervent prayer was heard.—With hideous sound,
Her ebon gates of darkness open flew;
A dawning twilight chears the dread profound;
The train of Terror vanishes from view.
More mild enchantments rise;
New scenes salute my eyes,
Groves, fountains, bowers, and temples grace the plain,
And turtles cooe around, and nightingales complain.

XV

And every myrtle bower and cypress grove,
And every solemn temple teems with life;
Here glows the scene with fond but hapless love,
There, with the deeper woes of human strife.
In groups around the lawn,
By fresh disasters drawn,
The sad spectators seem transfix'd in woe;
And pitying sighs are heard, and heart-felt sorrows flow.

XVI

Behold that beauteous maid! her languid head
Bends like a drooping lily charg'd with rain:
With floods of tears she bathes a Lover dead,
In brave assertion of her honour slain.
Her bosom heaves with sighs;
To Heaven she lifts her eyes,
With grief beyond the power of words opprest,
Sinks on the lifeless corse, and dies upon his breast.

XVII

How strong the bands of Friendship? yet, alas!
Behind yon mouldering tower with ivy crown'd,
Of two, the foremost in her sacred class,
One, from his friend, receives the fatal wound!
What could such fury move!
Ah what, but ill-star'd love?
The same fair object each fond heart enthralls,
And he, the favour'd youth, her hapless victim falls.

XVIII

Can ought so deeply sway the generous mind
To mutual truth, as female trust in love?
Then what relief shall yon fair mourner find,
Scorn'd by the man who should her plaints remove?
By fair, but false pretence,
She lost her innocence;
And that sweet babe, the fruit of treacherous art,
Claspt in her arms expires, and breaks the parent's heart.

XIX

Ah! who to pomp or grandeur would aspire?
Kings are not rais'd above Misfortune's frown:
That form so graceful even in mean attire,
Sway'd once a scepter, once sustain'd a crown.
From Filial rage and strife,
To screen his closing life,
He quits his throne, a father's sorrow feels,
And in the lap of Want his patient head conceals.

XX

More yet remain'd—but lo! the pensive Queen
Appears confest before my dazzled sight;
Grace in her steps, and softness in her mien,
The face of sorrow mingled with delight.
Not such her nobler frame,
When kindling into flame,
And bold in Virtue's cause, her zeal aspires
To waken guilty pangs, or breathe heroic fires.

XXI

Aw'd into silence, my rapt soul attends—
The Power, with eyes complacent, saw my fear;
And, as with grace ineffable she bends,
These accents vibrate on my listening ear.

“Aspiring son of art,
“Know, tho' thy feeling heart
“Glow with these wonders to thy fancy shown,
“Still may the Delian God thy powerless toils disown.

XXII

“A thousand tender scenes of soft distress
“May swell thy breast with sympathetic woes;
“A thousand such dread forms on fancy press,
“As from my dreary realms of darkness rose;
“Whence Shakespear's chilling fears,
“Whence Otway's melting tears—
“That aweful gloom, this melancholy plain,
“The types of every theme that suits the tragic strain.

XXIII

“But dost thou worship Nature night and morn,
“And all due honour to her precepts pay?
“Canst thou the lure of Affectation scorn,
“Pleas'd in the simpler paths of Truth to stray?
“Hast thou the Graces fair
“Invok'd with ardent prayer?
“'Tis they attire, as Nature must impart,
“The sentiment sublime, the language of the heart.

XXIV

“Then, if creative Genius pour his ray,
“Warm with inspiring influence on thy breast;
“Taste, judgment, fancy, if thou canst display,
“And the deep source of Passion stand confest:
“Then may the listening train,
“Affected, feel thy strain;
“Feel Grief or Terror, Rage or Pity move;
“Change with the varying scenes, and every scene approve.”

XXV

Humbled before her sight, and bending low,
I kiss'd the borders of her crimson vest;
Eager to speak, I felt my bosom glow,
But Fear upon my lip her seal imprest.
While awe-struck thus I stood,
The bowers, the lawn, the wood,
The Form celestial, fading on my sight,
Dissolv'd in liquid air, and fleeting gleams of light.

AGRICULTURE.

A POEM.

TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES, THIS ATTEMPT TO DELINEATE SUCH OBJECTS OF PUBLIC VIRTUE, AS BEST MAY DESERVE THE ATTENTION OF A BRITISH PRINCE, IS, WITH THE PROFOUNDEST RESPECT, MOST HUMBLY INSCRIBED, BY HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS's MOST DEVOTED, MOST OBEDIENT, AND MOST HUMBLE SERVANT, THE AUTHOR.

CANTO THE FIRST.

ARGUMENT.

The Proposition. Address to the Prince of WALES. Invocation to the Genius of Britain. Husbandry to be encouraged, as it is the source of wealth and plenty. Advice to Landlords not to oppress the Farmer. The Farmer's three great virtues. His instruments of husbandry. His servants. Description of a country statute. Episode of the fair milkmaid. The farm-yard described. The pleasures of a rural life. Address to the Great to study Agriculture. An allegory, attempting to explain the theory of Vegetation.

Of Culture, and the various fruits of earth;
Of social Commerce; of the nobler Arts,
Which polish and adorn the life of man:
Objects demanding the supreme regard

100

Of that exalted Monarch, who sustains
The scepter of command o'er Britain's sons;
The Muse, disdaining idle themes, attempts
To sing. O Thou, Britannia's rising hope!
The favourite of her wishes! Thou, O Prince,
On whom her fondest expectations wait,
Accept the verse; and, to the humblest voice
That sings of Public Virtue, lend an ear.

Genius of Britain! Pure Intelligence!
Guardian, appointed by the One supreme,
With influential energy benign,
To guide the weal of this distinguish'd isle;
O wake the breast of her aspiring son,
Inform his numbers, aid his bold design,
Who, in a daring flight, presumes to mark
The glorious track her Monarchs should pursue.

From Cultivation, from the useful toils
Of the laborious hind, the streams of wealth
And plenty flow. Deign then, illustrious Youth!
To bring th' observing eye, the liberal hand,
And with a spirit congenial to Your birth,
Regard his various labours thro' the year:
So shall the labourer smile, and You improve
The happy Country You are born to rule.

The year declining, now hath left the fields
Divested of their honours: the strong glebe,
Exhausted, waits the culture of the plough,
To renovate her powers. 'Tis now, intent
On honest gain, the cautious husbandman
Surveys the country round, sollicitous

101

To fix his habitation on a soil
Propitious to his hopes, and to his cares.

O ye, whom Fortune in her silken robe
Enwraps benign; whom Plenty's bounteous hand
Hath favour'd with distinction: O look down,
With smiles indulgent, on his new designs;
Assist his useful works, facilitate
His honest aims, nor in Exaction's gripe
Enthrall th' endeavouring swain. Think not his toils
Were meant alone to foster you in ease
And pamper'd indolence: nor grudge the meed,
Which Heaven in mercy gives to chear the hand,
The labouring hand of useful Industry.
Be yours the joy to propagate Content;
With bounteous Heaven co-operate, and reward
The poor man's toil, whence all your riches spring.
As in a garden, the enlivening air
Is fill'd with odours, drawn from those fair flowers
Which by its influence rise: so in his breast
Benevolent, who gives the swains to thrive,
Reflected live the joys his virtues lent.

But come, young Farmer, tho' by Fortune fix'd
On fields luxuriant, where the fruitful soil
Gives Labour hope; where sheltering shades arise,
Thick fences guard, and bubbling fountains flow;
Where arable and pasture duly mix;
Yet, ere thy toils begin, attend the Muse,
And catch the moral lessons of her song.
Be frugal and be blest; Frugality
Will give thee competence; thy gains are small,
Too small to bear Profusion's wasteful hand.

102

Make Temperance thy companion, so shall Health
Sit on thy brow, invigorating thy frame
To every useful work. And if to these
Thou happily shalt join one virtue more,
The love of Industry, the glowing joy
Felt from each new improvement; then fair Peace,
With modest Neatness, in her decent garb,
Shall walk around thy dwelling: while the Great,
Tir'd with the vast fatigue of Indolence,
Fill'd with disease by Luxury and Sloth,
Impatient curse the dilatory day,
And look with envy on thy happier state.

Prepar'd with these plain virtues, now the swain
With courage enters on his rural works.
First he provides the needful implements.
Of these, the honour'd plough claims chief regard.
Hence bread to man, who heretofore on mast
Fed with his fellow brute, in woods and wilds,
Himself uncultur'd as the soil he trod.
The spiked harrow next, to break the clods,
And spread the surface of the new-plough'd field:
Nor is the roller's friendly aid unsought.
Hoes he provides, with various arms prepar'd,
T' encounter all the numerous host of weeds,
Which rise malignant, menacing his hopes.
The sweeping scythe's keen edge he whets for grass,
And turns the crooked sickle for his corn.
The fork to spread, the gathering rake to save
With providential care he treasures up.
His strong capacious wain, the dull slow ox
Drags on, deep loaden, grinding the rough ruts:
While with his lighter team, the sprightly horse

103

Moves to the music of his tinkling bells.
Nor will his foresight lack the whirling flail,
Whose battering strokes force from the loosen'd sheaves
Their hidden stores profuse; which now demand
The quick rotation of the winnowing fan,
With blasts successive, wafting far away
The worthless chaff, to clear the golden grain.

And now compell'd to hire assistant strength,
Away he hastens to some neighbouring town,
Where willing Servitude, for mutual wants
Of hind and farmer, holds her annual feast.
'Tis here the toiling hand of Industry
Employment seeks. The skilful ploughman, lord
And leader of the rustic band; who claims
His boy attendant, conscious of his worth
And dignity superior; boasting skill
To guide with steadiness the sliding share,
To scatter with an equal hand the seed,
And with a master scythe to head the train
When the ripe meadow asks the mower's hand.
Here too the thrasher, brandishing his flail,
Bespeaks a master, whose full barns demand
A labouring arm, now ready to give up
Their treasure, and exchange their hoarded grain
For heaps of gold, the meed of honest toil.
The sun-burnt shepherd too, his slouching hat
Distinguish'd well with fleecy locks, expects
Observance; skill'd in wool, and lesson'd deep
In all diseases of the bleating flock.

104

Mixt with the rustic throng, see ruddy maids,
Some taught with dext'rous hand to twirl the wheel,
Or stroak the swelling udder; some expert
To raise from leaven'd wheat the kneaded loaf;
To mash the malted barley, and extract
Its flavour'd strength; or with a housewife's care,
To keep the decent habitation neat.
But now let loose to revelry and sport,
In clamorous mirth, indelicate and rude,
The boisterous swains, and hoyden nymphs, provoke
Outrageous merriment.—Yet not alike
Is every swain, nor every sylvan maid;
As Verulam the pleasing tale records.
When Patty, lovely Patty, grac'd the crowd,
Pride of the neighbouring plains. Who hath not heard
Of Patty, the fair milkmaid? Beautiful
As an Arcadian nymph, upon her brow
Sate virgin Modesty, while in her eyes
Young Sensibility began to play
With Innocence. Her waving locks fell down
On either side her face in careless curls,
Shading the tender blushes in her cheek.
Her breath was sweeter than the morning gale,
Stolen from the rose or violet's dewy leaves.
He ivory teeth appear'd in even rows,
Thro' lips of living coral. When she spoke
Her features wore intelligence: her words
Were soft, with such a smile accompany'd,
As lighted in her face resistless charms.
Her polish'd neck rose rounding from her breast,
With pleasing elegance:—That lovely breast!—
Ah! Fancy, dwell not there, lest gay Desire,
Who smiling hovers o'er th' enchanting place,

105

Tempt thy wild thoughts to dangerous extacy.
Her shape was molded by the hand of Ease;
Exact proportion harmoniz'd her frame;
While Grace, following her steps, with secret art
Stole into all her motions. Thus she walk'd
In sweet simplicity; a snow-white pail
Hung on her arm, the symbol of her skill
In that fair province of the rural state,
The dairy; source of more delicious bowls
Than Bacchus from his choicest vintage boasts.

How great the power of Beauty! The rude swains
Grew civil at her sight; and gaping crowds
Wrapt in astonishment, with transport gaze,
Whispering her praises in each other's ear.
As when a gentle breeze, borne thro' the grove,
With quick vibration shakes the trembling leaves,
And hushing murmurs run from tree to tree;
So ran a spreading whisper thro' the crowd.
Young Thyrsis hearing, turn'd aside his head,
And soon the pleasing wonder caught his eye.
Full in the prime of youth, the joyful heir
Of numerous acres, a large freehold farm,
Thyrsis as yet from beauty felt no pain,
Had seen no virgin he could wish to make
His wedded partner. Now his beating heart
Feels new emotion; now his fixed eye
With fervent rapture dwelling on her charms,
Drinks in delicious draughts of new-born Love.
No rest the night, no peace the following day
Brought to his struggling heart: her beauteous form,
Her fair perfections playing on his mind,
With pleasing anguish torture him. In vain

106

He strives to tear her image from his breast;
Each little grace, each dear bewitching look,
Returns triumphant, breaking his resolves,
And binding all his soul a slave to Love.

Ah! little did he know, alas, the while,
Poor Patty's tender heart, in mutual pain,
Long, long for him had heav'd the secret sigh.
For him she drest, for him the pleasing arts
She study'd, and for him she wish'd to live.
But her low fortunes, nursing sad despair,
Check'd the young hope; nor durst her modest eyes
Indulge the smallest glances of her flame,
Left curious Malice, like a watchful spy,
Should catch the secret, and with taunts reveal.

Judge then the sweet surprize when she at length
Beheld him, all irresolute, approach;
And gently taking her fair trembling hand,
Breathe these soft words into her listening ear.
“O Patty! dearest maid! whose beauteous form
“Dwells in my breast, and charms my soul to love,
“Accept my vows; accept a faithful heart,
“Which from this hour devotes itself to thee:
“Wealth has no relish, life can give no joy,
“If you forbid my hopes to call you mine.”
Ah! who the sudden tumult can describe
Of struggling passions rising in her breast?
Hope, fear, confusion, modesty, and love
Oppress her labouring soul:—She strove to speak,
But the faint accents dy'd upon her tongue:
Her fears prevented utterance.—At length—
“Can Thyrsis mock my Poverty? Can he

107

“Be so unkind? O no! Yet I, alas,
“Too humble even to hope”—No more she said;
But gently as if half unwilling, stole
Her hand from his; and, with sweet modesty,
Casting a look of diffidence and fear,
To hide her blushes, silently withdrew.
But Thyrsis read, with rapture in her eyes
The language of her soul. He follow'd, woo'd,
And won her for his wife. His lowing herds
Soon call her mistress; soon their milky streams
Coagulated, rise in circling piles
Of harden'd curd; and all the daries round,
To her sweet butter yield superior praise.

But turn, my Muse, nor let th' alluring form
Of Beauty lead too far thy devious steps.
See where the Farmer, with a master's eye,
Surveys his little kingdom, and exults
In sov'reign independance. At a word,
His feathery subjects in obedience flock
Around his feeding hand, who in return
Yield a delicious tribute to his board,
And o'er his couch their downy plumage spread.
The peacock here expands his eyeful plumes,
A glittering pageant, to the mid-day sun:
In the stiff awkwardness of foolish pride,
The swelling turkey apes his stately step,
And calls the bristling feathers round his head.
There the loud herald of the morning struts
Before his cackling dames, the passive slaves
Of his promiscuous pleasure. O'er the pond,
See the grey gander, with his female train,
Bending their lofty necks; and gabbling ducks,

108

Rejoicing on the surface clap their wings;
Whilst wheeling round, in airy wanton flights,
The glossy pigeons chace their sportive loves,
Or in soft cooings tell their amorous tale.
Here stacks of hay, there pyramids of corn,
Promise the future market large supplies:
While with an eye of triumph he surveys
His piles of wood, and laughs at Winter's frown.
In silent rumination, see the kine,
Beneath the walnut's shade, patiently wait
To pour into his pails their milky stores.
While pent from mischief, far from sight remov'd,
The bristly herd, within their fatt'ning styes,
Remind him to prepare, in many a row,
The gaily-blooming pea, the fragrant bean,
And broad-leav'd cabbage, for the ploughman's feast.

These his amusements, his employment these;
Which still arising in successive change,
Give to each vary'd hour a new delight.
Peace and Contentment with their guardian wings
Enclose his nightly slumbers. Rosy Health,
When the gay lark's sweet matin wakes the morn,
Treads in his dewy foot-steps round the field;
And Chearfulness attends his closing day.
No racking jealousy, nor sullen hate,
Nor fear, nor envy, discompose his breast.
His only enemies the prowling fox,
Whose nightly murders thin the bleating fold;
The hardy badger; the rapacious kite,
With eye malignant on the little brood,
Sailing around portentous; the rank stote
Thirsting, ah, savage thirst! for harmless blood;

109

The corn devouring partridge; timorous hare;
Th' amphibious otter bold; the weasel sly,
Pilfering the yolk from its enclosing shell;
And moles, a dirty undermining race.
These all his foes, and these, alas, compar'd
With man to man, an inoffensive train.
'Gainst these, assisted by th' entangling net,
Th' explosive thunder of the level'd tube,
Or toils unweary'd of his social friend
The faithful dog, he wages rural war,
And health and pleasure in the sportive field
Obtaining, he forgives their venial crimes.

O happy he! happiest of mortal men!
Who far remov'd from slavery as from pride,
Fears no man's frown, nor cringing waits to catch
The gracious nothing of a great man's nod:
Where the lac'd beggar bustles for a bribe,
The purchase of his honour; where Deceit,
And Fraud, and Circumvention, drest in smiles,
Hold shameful commerce; and beneath the mask
Of Friendship and Sincerity, betray.
Him, nor the stately mansion's gilded pride,
Rich with whate'er the imitative arts,
Painting or sculpture, yield to charm the eye;
Nor shining heaps of massy plate, enwrought
With curious, costly workmanship, allure.
Tempted nor with the pride nor pomp of Power,
Nor pageants of Ambition, nor the mines
Of grasping Av'rice, nor the poison'd sweets
Of pamper'd Luxury, he plants his foot
With firmness on his old paternal fields,
And stands unshaken. There sweet prospects rise
Of meadows smiling in their flow'ry pride,

110

Green hills and dales, and cottages embower'd,
The scenes of innocence and calm delight.
There the wild melody of warbling birds,
And cool refreshing groves, and murmuring springs,
Invite to sacred thought, and lift the mind
From low pursuits, to meditate the God!

Turn then at length, O turn, ye sons of Wealth,
And ye who seek, thro' Life's bewildering maze,
To tread the paths of Happiness, O turn!
And trace her footsteps in the rural walk;
In those fair scenes of wonder and delight,
Where, to the human eye, Omnipotence
Unfolds the map of Nature, and displays
The matchless beauty of created things.
Turn to the arts, the useful pleasing arts
Of Cultivation; and those fields improve
Your erring fathers have too long despis'd.
Leave not to ignorance, and low-bred hinds,
That noblest science, which in ancient time
The minds of sages and of kings employ'd,
Sollicitous to learn the ways of God,
And read his works in Agriculture's school.

Then hear the Muse, now entering, hand in hand
With sweet Philosophy, the secret bowers
Of deep mysterious Nature; there t' explore
The causes of Fecundity, and how
The various Elements, Earth, Water, Air,
And Fire united; the enlivening ray
Diurnal; the prolific dews of Night;
With all the rolling Seasons of the year;
In Vegetation's work their power combine.

111

Whither, O whither, dost thou lead my steps,
Divine Philosophy? What scenes are these,
Which strike my wondering senses? Lo! enthron'd
Upon a solid rock great Nature sits;
Her eyes to heaven directed, as from thence
Receiving inspiration. Round her head
A mingled wreath of fruits and flowers entwines.
Her robe, with every motion changing hue,
Flows down in plenteous foldings, and conceals
Her secret footsteps from the eyes of men.
List! list! what harmony, what heavenly sounds
Enchant my ravish'd ear? 'Tis ancient Pan,
Who on his seven-fold pipe, to the rapt soul
Conveys the fancy'd music of the spheres.
See by his strains the Elements inspir'd,
Join in mysterious work; their motions led
By active Fire, in windings intricate,
But not perplext, nor vague. And who are They?
What Pair obeying in alternate rounds
The tuneful melody? Majestic one,
And grave, lifting her aweful forehead, moves
In shadowy silence, borne on raven wings,
Which, waving to the measur'd sounds, beat time.
A veil obscures her face; a sable stole,
Bedeck'd with sparkling gems, conceals her form;

112

And wreaths of bending poppy crown her brow.
The other, rais'd on swan-like spreading plumes;
Glides gaily on; a milk-white robe invests
His frame transparent; in his azure eyes
Dwells brightness; while around his radiant head,
A shining glory paints his flying robe,
With all the colours of the watry bow.

Proceeding now, in more majestic steps,
The varying Seasons join the mystic train.
In all the blooming hues of florid youth,
Gay Spring advances smiling: on her head
A flow'ry chaplet, mixt with verdant buds,
Sheds aromatic fragrance thro' the air;
While little Zephyrs, breathing wanton gales,
Before her flutter, turning back to gaze,
With looks enamour'd, on her lovely face.
Summer succeeds, crown'd with the bearded ears
Of ripening Harvest; in her hand she bears
A shining sickle; on her glowing cheek
The fervent heat paints deep a rosy blush:
Her thin light garment, waving with the wind,
Flows loosely from her bosom, and reveals
To the pleas'd eye the beauties of her form.
Then follows Autumn, bearing in her lap
The blushing fruits, which Summer's sultry breath
Had mellow'd to her hand. A clustering wreath
Of purple grapes, half hid with spreading leaves,
Adorns her brow. Her dew-besprinkled locks
Begin to fall, her bending shoulders sink,
And active vigour leaves her sober steps.
Winter creeps on, shrivel'd with chilling cold;
Bald his white crown, upon his silver beard

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Shines the hoar frost, and isicles depend.
Rigid and stern his melancholy face;
Shivering he walks, his joints benumn'd and stiff;
And wraps in northern furrs his wither'd trunk.

And now, great Nature pointing to the train
Her Heaven-directed hand, they all combine,
In measur'd figures, and mysterious rounds,
To weave the mazy dance; while to the sound
Of Pan's immortal pipe, the Goddess join'd
Her voice harmonious; and the listening Muse,
Admiring, caught the wonders of her Theme.

“To God, Supreme Creator! great and good!
“All-wise, almighty Parent of the World!
“In choral Symphonies of Praise and Love,
“Let all the Powers of Nature raise the Song!

‘The watry signs forsaking, see, the Sun,
‘Great Father of the vegetable tribes,
‘Darts from the Ram his all-enlivening ray.
‘When now the genial warmth Earth's yielding breast
‘Unfolds. Her latent salts, sulphureous oils,
‘And Air, and Water mixt; attract, repel,
‘And raise prolific ferment. Lo! at length
‘The vital Principle begins to wake:
‘Th' emulgent fibres, stretching round the root,
‘Seek their terrestrial nurture; which, convey'd
‘In limpid currents thro' th' ascending tubes,
‘And strain'd and filter'd in their secret cells;

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‘To its own nature every different plant
‘Assimilating, changes. Aweful Heaven!
‘How wond'rous is thy work! To Thee! to thee!
‘Mysterious Power belongs! Summer's fierce heat
‘Encreasing, rarifies the ductile juice.
‘See, from the root, and from the bark imbib'd,
‘Th' elastic Air impels the rising sap.
‘Swift thro' the stem, thro' every branching arm,
‘And smaller shoot, the vivid moisture flows,
‘Protruding from their buds the opening leaves:
‘Whence, as ordain'd, th' expiring Air flows out
‘In copious exhalations; and from whence
‘Its noblest principles the plant inhales.

‘See! see! the shooting verdure spreads around!
‘Ye sons of men, with rapture view the scene!
‘On hill and dale, on meadow, field, and grove,
‘Cloath'd in soft mingling shades from light to dark,
‘The wandering eye delighted roves untir'd.
‘The hawthorn's whitening bush, Pomona's blooms,
‘And Flora's pencil o'er th' enamell'd green,
‘The varying scenes enrich. Hence every gale
‘Breathes odours, every Zephyr from his wings
‘Wafting new fragrance; borne from trees, from shrubs,
‘Borne from the yellow cowslip, violet blue,
‘From deep carnations, from the blushing rose,
‘From every flower and aromatic herb
‘In grateful mixtures. Hence ambrosial fruits
‘Yield their delicious flavours. The sweet grape,
‘The mulberry's cooling juice, the luscious plumb,
‘The healthful apple, the dissolving peach,
‘And thy rich nectar many-flavour'd pine.
‘These are the gracious gifts, O favour'd man!

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‘These, these, to thee the gracious gifts of heav'n,
‘A world of beauty, wonder, and delight!

“To God, Supreme Creator! great and good!
“All-wise, almighty Parent of the World!
“In choral Symphonies of Praise and Love,
“Let all the Powers of Nature close the Strain.

This is called in the country a Statute; and is held annually at most market towns in England, where servants of all kinds resort in quest of places and employment.

Mythologists have thought the universal nature of things to be signify'd by this god; and that his pipe, compos'd of seven reeds, was the symbol of the seven planets, which they say make the harmony of the spheres.

According to Dr. Boerhave and other modern philosophers, all the motion in nature arises from fire; and taking that away, all things would become fixt and immoveable: fluids would become solid; a man would harden into a statue; and the very air would cohere into a firm and rigid mass.

The philosophy of this hymn is built on that experimental foundation, laid by the learned and ingenious Dr. Hales, in his Vegetable Statics.

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CANTO THE SECOND.

ARGUMENT.

Of different soils, and their culture. Mr. Tull's principles and practice. Of the principles and practice of the Middlesex gardeners. Of various manures, and other methods of improving lands. Of hedging and ditching. Of planting timber trees. Of draining wet, and flooding dry lands. Of gardening, and the gardens of Epicurus.

Descending now from these superior themes,
O Muse, in notes familiar, teach the swain
The hidden properties of every glebe,
And what the different Culture each requires,
The Naturalist, to sand, or loam, or clay,
Reduces all the varying soils, which cloathe
The bosom of this earth with beauty. Sand,
Hot, open, loose, admits the genial ray

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With freedom, and with greediness imbibes
The falling moisture: hence the embrio seeds,
Lodg'd in its fiery womb, push into life
With early haste, and hurry'd to their prime,
(Their vital juices spent) too soon decay.
Correct this error of the ardent soil,
With cool manure: let stiff cohesive clay
Give the loose glebe consistence, and firm strength:
So shall thy labouring steers, when harvest calls,
Bending their patient shoulders to the yoke,
Drag home in copious loads the yellow grain.

Has Fortune fix'd thy lot to toil in clay?
Despair not, nor repine: the stubborn soil
Shall yield to Cultivation, and reward
The hand of Diligence. Here give the plough
No rest. Break, pound the clods, and with warm dungs
Relieve the steril coldness of the ground,
Chill'd with obstructed water. Add to these
The sharpest sand, to open and unbind
The close-cohering mass; so shall new pores
Admit the solar beam's enlivening heat,
The nitrous particles of air receive,
And yield a passage to the soaking rain.
Hence fermentation, hence prolific power,
And hence the fibrous roots, in quest of food,
Find unobstructed entrance, room to spread,
And richer juices feed the swelling shoots:
So the strong field shall to the reaper's hand
Produce a plenteous crop of waving wheat.

But blest with ease, in plenty shall he live,
Whom Heav'n's kind hand, indulgent to his wish,

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Hath plac'd upon a loamy soil. He views
All products of the teeming earth arise
In plenteous crops, nor scarce the needful aid
Of Culture deigns to ask. Him, nor the fears
Of scorching heat, nor deluges of rain
Alarm. His kindly fields sustain all change
Of seasons, and support a healthy seed,
In vigour thro' the perils of the year.

But new improvements curious would'st thou learn?
Hear then the lore of fair Berkeria's Son,
Whose precepts, drawn from sage experience, claim
Regard. The pasture, and the food of plants,
First let the young Agricolist be taught:
Then how to sow, and raise the embrio seeds
Of every different species. Nitre, Fire,
Air, Water, Earth, their various powers combine
In Vegetation; but the genuine food
Of every plant is earth: hence their increase,
Their strength, and substance. Nitre first prepares
And separates the concreted parts; which then
The watry vehicle assumes, and thro'
Th' ascending tubes, impell'd by subtil air,
Which gives it motion, and that motion heat,
The fine terrestrial aliment conveys.

Is earth the food of plants? their pasture then
Is earth's inverted surface. This the swain,
By ceaseless tillage, or the use of dung,
Must or ferment, or pulverize, to fit

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For due reception of the fibrous roots:
But from the streams of ordure, from the stench
Of putrefaction, from stercoreous fumes
Of rottenness and filth, can sweetness spring?
Or grateful, or salubrious food to man?
As well might virgin innocence preserve
Her purity from taint, amid the stews.
Defile not then the freshness of thy field
With dung's polluting touch; but let the plough,
The hoe, the harrow, and the roller, lend
Their better powers, to fructifie the soil;
Turn it to catch the sun's prolific ray,
Th' enlivening breath of air, the genial dews,
And every influence of indulgent heaven.
These shall enrich and fertilize the glebe,
And Toil's unceasing hand full well supply
The dunghill's sordid and extraneous aid.

Thus taught the Shalborne Swain; who first with skill
Led through the fields the many-coulter'd plough;
Who first his seed committed to the ground.
Shed from the drill by flow revolving wheels,
In just proportion and in even rows;
Leaving 'twixt each a spacious interval,
To introduce with ease, while yet the grain
Expanding crown'd the intermediate ridge,
His new machine; form'd to exterminate
The weedy race, (intruders who devour,
But nothing pay) to pulverize the soil,
Enlarge and change the pasture of the roots,
And to its last perfection raise the crop.
He taught, alas, but practis'd ill the lore

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Of his own precepts. Fell Disease, or Sloth
Relax'd the hand of industry: his Farm,
His own philosophy disgracing, brought
Discredit on the doctrines he enforc'd.

Then banish from thy fields the loiterer Sloth;
Nor listen to the voice of thoughtless Ease.
Him sordidness and penury surround,
Beneath whose lazy hand the farm runs wild;
Whose heart nor feels the joy improvement gives
Nor leaden eye the beauties that arise
From labour, sees. Accumulated filth
Annoys his crowded steps; even at his door
A yellow mucus from the dunghill stands
In squalid pools; his buildings unrepair'd,
To ruin rush precipitate; his fields
Disorder governs, and licentious weeds
Spring up uncheck'd: the nettle and the dock,
Wormwood and thistles, in their seasons rise,
And deadly nightshade spreads his poison round.
Ah! wretched he! if chance his wandering child,
By hunger prompted, pluck th' alluring fruit!
Benumning stupor creeps upon his brain;
Wild grinning laughter soon to this succeeds;
Strange madness then, and death in hideous form,
Mysterious Providence! ah, why conceal'd
In such a tempting form, should poisons lurk;
Ah, why so near the path of innocents,
Should spring their bane? But Thou alone art wise.

Thus hath the faithful Muse his lore pursu'd,
Who, trusting to the Culture of his plough,
Refus'd the dunghill's aid. Yet listen not

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To doubtful precepts, with implicit faith:
Experience to experience oft oppos'd,
Leaves truth uncertain. See, what various crops,
In quick succession, crown the garden'd fields
On Thame's prolific bank. On Culture's hand
Alone, do these Horticulists rely?
Or do they owe to London's rich manure
Those products which its crowded markets fill?
Both lend their aid: and both with art improv'd,
Have spread the glory of their garden's wide,
A theme of wonder to the distant swain.
Hence the piazza'd square, where erst, embower'd
In solemn sloth, good Martin's lazy monks
Dron'd out their useless lives in pamper'd ease;
Now boasts, from Industry's rough hand supply'd,
Each various esculent the teeming earth
In every changing season can produce.

Join then with Culture the prolific strength
Of such manure as best inclines to aid
Thy failing glebe. Let oily marle impart
Its unctuous moisture, or the crumbling tan
Its glowing heat. Nor from the gazing herds,
Nor bristly swine obscene, disdain to heap
Their cooling ordure. Nor the warmer dungs
Of fiery pigeons, of the stabled horse,
Or folded flock, neglect. From sprinkled foot,

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From ashes strew'd around, let the damp soil
Their nit'rous salts imbibe. Scour the deep ditch
From its black sediment; and from the street
Its trampled mixtures rake. Green standing pools,
Large lakes, or meadows rank, in rotted heaps
Of unripe weeds, afford a cool manure.
From Ocean's verge, if not too far remov'd,
Its shelly sands convey a warm compost,
From land and wave commixt, with richness fraught:
This the sour glebe shall sweeten, and for years,
Thro' chilly clay, its vigorous heat shall glow.
But if nor oily marle, nor crumbling tan,
Nor dung of cattle, nor the trampled street,
Nor weed, nor Ocean's sand, can lend its aid;
Then, Farmer, raise immediate from their seeds,
The juicy stalks of largely-spreading pulse,
Beans, buck-wheat, spurry, or the climbing vetch;
These early reapt, and bury'd in the soil,
Enrich the parent womb from whence they sprung.
Or sow the bulbous turnep; this shall yield
Sweet pasture to the flocks, or lowing herds,
And well prepare thy land for future crops.

Yet not alone to raise, but to secure
Thy products from invasion, and divide
For various use th' appropriated fields,
Disdain not thou to learn. For this, the sloe,
The furze, the holly, to thy hand present
Their branches, and their different merits boast.
But from the nurs'ry thou with care select

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Quick hawthorn setts, well rooted, smooth and strait:
Then low as sinks thy ditch on either side,
Let rise in height the sloping bank: there plant
Thy future fence, at intervals a foot
From each to each, in beds of richest mold.
Nor ends the labour here; but to defend
Thy infant shoots from depredation deep,
At proper distance drive stiff oaken stakes;
Which interwove with boughs and flexile twigs,
Frustrate the nibbling flock, or brouzing herd.
Thus, if from weeds, that rob them of their food,
Or choak, by covering from the vital air,
The hoe's neat culture keep thy thickening shoots,
Soon shall they rise, and to thy field afford
A beauteous, strong, impenetrable fence.
The linnet, goldfinch, nightingale, and thrush,
Here, by security invited, build
Their little nests, and all thy labours chear
With melody; the hand of lovely May
Here strews her sweetest blossoms; and if mixt
With stocks of knotted crab, ingrafted fruits,
When Autumn crowns the year, shall smile around.

But from low shrubs, if thy ambition rise
To cultivate the larger tree, attend.

From seeds, or suckers, layers, or setts, arise
Their various tribes; for now exploded stands
The vulgar fable of spontaneous birth,
To plant or animal. He then, who, pleas'd,
In Fancy's eye beholds his future race
Rejoicing in the shades their grandsire gave;
Or he whose patriot views extend to raise,

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In distant ages, Britain's naval power;
Must first prepare, inclining to the south,
A shelter'd nursery; well from weeds, from shrubs,
Clear'd by the previous culture of the plough,
From cattle fenc'd, and every peeling tooth.
Then from the summit of the fairest tree
His seed selected ripe, and sow'd in rills
On Nature's fruitful lap: the harrow's care
Indulgent covers from keen frosts that pierce
Or vermin who devour. The wintry months
In embrio close the future forest lies,
And waits for germination: but in spring,
When their green heads first rise above the earth,
And ask thy fostering hand; then to their roots
The light soil gently move, and strew around
Old leaves, or litter'd straw, to screen from heat
The tender infants. Leave not to vile weeds
This friendly office; whose false kindness choaks,
Or starves the nurslings they pretend to shade.

When now four summers have beheld their youth
Attended in the nursery, then transplant,
The soil prepar'd, to where thy future grove
Is destin'd to uprear its leafy head.
Avoid the error of impatience. He
Who, eager to enjoy the cooling shade
His hands shall raise, removes at vast expence
Tall trees; with envy and regret shall see
His neighbour's infant plants soon, soon outstrip
The tardy loiterers of his dwindling copse.

But if thy emulation's generous pride
Would boast the largest timber strait and strong!
Thick let the seedling in their native beds

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Stand unremov'd; so shall each lateral branch,
Obstructed, send its nourishment to raise
The towering stem: and they whose vigorous health
Exalts above the rest their lofty heads,
Aspiring still, shall spread their powerful arms,
While the weak puny race, obscur'd below,
Sickening, die off, and leave their victors room.

Nor small the praise the skilful Planter claims
From his befriended country. Various Arts
Borrow from him materials. The soft Beech,
And close-grain'd Box, employ the turner's wheel,
And with a thousand implements supply
Mechanic skill. Their beauteous veins the Yew
And Phyllerea lend, to surface o'er
The cabinet. Smooth Linden best obeys
The carver's chissel; best his curious work
Displays in all its nicest touches. Birch—
Ah, why should Birch supply the chair? since oft
Its cruel twigs compel the smarting youth
To dread the hateful seat. Tough-bending Ash
Gives to the humble swain his useful plough,
And for the peer his prouder chariot builds.
To weave our baskets the soft Osier lends
His pliant twigs: Staves that nor shrink nor swell,
The cooper's close-wrought cask to Chesnut owes.
The sweet-leav'd Walnut's undulated grain,
Polish'd with care, adds to the workman's art
Its varying beauties. The tall towering Elm,
Scoop'd into hollow tubes, in secret streams
Conveys for many a mile the limpid wave;
Or from its height when humbled to the ground,
Conveys the pride of mortal man to dust.

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And last the Oak, king of Britannia's woods,
And guardian of her isle! whose sons robust,
The best supporters of incumbent weight,
Their beams and pillars to the builder give,
Of strength immense: or in the bounding deep
The loose foundations lay of floating walls,
Impregnably secure. But sunk, but fallen
From all your ancient grandeur, O ye groves!
Beneath whose lofty venerable boughs
The Druid erst his solemn rites perform'd,
And taught to distant realms his sacred lore,
Where are your beauties fled? where but to serve
Your thankless country, who unblushing sees
Her naked forests longing for your shade.

The task, the glorious task, for Thee remains,
O Prince belov'd! for Thee, more nobly born
Than for Thyself alone, the patriot work
Yet unattempted waits. O let not pass
The fair occasion to remotest time
Thy name with praise, with honour to transmit!
So shall Thy country's rising fleets, to Thee
Owe future triumphs; so her naval strength,
Supported from within, shall fix Thy claim
To Ocean's sovereignty; and to Thy ports,
In every climate of the peopled earth,
Bear Commerce; fearless, unresisted, safe.
Let then the great ambition fire Thy breast,
For this, Thy native land; Replace the lost
Inhabitants of her deserted plains.
Let Thame once more on Windsor's lofty hills
Survey young forests planted by Thy hand.
Let fair Sabrina's flood again behold

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The Spaniard's terror rise renew'd. And Trent,
From Sherwood's ample plains, with pride convey
The bulwarks of her country to the main.

O native Sherwood! happy were thy bard,
Might these his rural notes, to future time
Boast of tall groves, that, nodding o'er thy plain,
Rose to their tuneful melody. But, ah!
Beneath the feeble efforts of a Muse
Untutor'd by the lore of Greece or Rome;
A stranger to the fair Castalian springs,
Whence happier poets inspiration draw,
And the sweet magic of perswasive song,
The weak presumption, the fond hope expires.
Yet sure some sacred impulse stirs my breast!
I feel, I feel, an heavenly guest within!
And all-obedient to the ruling God,
The pleasing task which he inspires, pursue.

And hence, disdaining low and trivial things;
Why should I tell of him whose obvious art,
To drain the low damp meadow, sloping sinks
A hollow trench, which arch'd at half its depth,
Cover'd with filtering brush-wood, furze or broom,
And surfac'd o'er with earth; in secret streams
Draws its collected moisture from the glebe?
Or why of him, who o'er his sandy fields,
Too dry to bear the sun's meridian beam,
Calls from the neighbouring hills obsequious springs,

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Which led in winding currents thro' the mead,
Cool the hot soil, refresh the thirsty plain,
While wither'd plants reviving smile around?
But sing, O Muse! the swain, the happy swain,
Whom Taste and Nature leading o'er his fields,
Conduct to every rural beauty. See!
Before his footsteps winds the waving walk,
Here gently rising, there descending slow
Thro' the tall grove, or near the water's brink,
Where flowers besprinkled paint the shelving bank,
And weeping willows bend, to kiss the stream.
Now wandering o'er the lawn he roves, and now
Beneath the hawthorn's secret shade reclines:
Where purple violets hang their bashful heads,
Where yellow cowslips, and the blushing pink,
Their mingled sweets, and lovely hues combine.

Here, shelter'd from the north, his ripening fruits
Display their sweet temptations from the wall,
Or from the gay espalier: while below,
His various esculents, from glowing beds,
Give the fair promise of delicious feasts.

There from his forming hand new scenes arise,
The fair creation of his Fancy's eye.
Lo! bosom'd in the solemn shady grove,
Whose reverend branches wave on yonder hill,
He views the moss-grown temple's ruin'd tower,
Cover'd with creeping ivy's cluster'd leaves;
The mansion seeming of some rural God,
Whom Nature's choristers, in untaught hymns
Of wild yet sweetest harmony, adore.
From the bold brow of that aspiring steep,

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Where hang the nibbling flocks, and view below
Their downward shadows in the glassy wave,
What pleasing landscapes spread before his eye!
Of scatter'd villages, and winding streams,
And meadows green, and woods, and distant spires,
Seeming, above the blue horizon's bound,
To prop the canopy of heaven. Now lost
Amidst a glooming wilderness of shrubs,
The golden Orange, Arbute ever green,
The early-blooming Almond, feathery Pine,
Fair Opulus, to Spring, to Autumn dear,
And the sweet shades of varying verdure, caught
From soft Acacia's gently-waving branch,
Heedless he wanders: while the grateful scents
Of Sweet-briar, Roses, Honeysuckles wild,
Regale the smell; and to th' enchanted eye
Mezereon's purple, Laurustinus' white,
And pale Laburnum's pendent flowers display
Their different beauties. O'er the smooth-shorn grass
His lingering footsteps leisurely proceed,
In meditation deep:—When, hark! the sound
Of distant water steals upon his ear;
And sudden opens to his pausing eye
The rapid rough cascade, from the rude rock
Down dashing in a stream of lucid foam:
Then glides away, meandring o'er the lawn,
A liquid surface; shining seen afar,
At intervals, beneath the shadowy trees;
Till lost and bury'd in the distant grove.
Wrapt into sacred musing, he reclines
Beneath the covert of embowering shades;

130

And, painting to his mind the bustling scenes
Of Pride and bold Ambition, pities Kings.

Genius of Gardens! Nature's fairest Child!
Thou who, inspir'd by the Directing Mind
Of Heaven, did'st plan the scenes of paradise!
Thou at whose bidding rose th' Hesperian bowers
Of ancient fame, the fair Aonian mount,
Castalian springs, and all th' enchanting groves
Of Tempe's vale: O where hast thou been hid?
For ages where have stray'd thy steps unknown?
Welcome at length, thrice welcome to the shore
Of Britain's beauteous Isle; where verdant plains,
Where hills and dales, and woods and waters join
To aid thy pencil, favour thy designs,
And give thy varying landscapes every charm.
Drive then Batavia's monsters from our shades;
Nor let unhallow'd shears profane the form,
Which Heaven's own hand, with symmetry divine,
Hath given to all the vegetable tribes.
Banish the regular deformity
Of plans by line and compass, rules abhor'd
In Nature's free plantations; and restore
Its pleasing wildness to the garden walk;
The calm serene recess of thoughtful man,
In Meditation's silent sacred hour.

And lo! the progress of thy steps appears
In fair improvements scatter'd round the land.
Earliest in Chiswick's beauteous model seen:
There thy first favourite, in the happy shade

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To Nature introduc'd, the Goddess woo'd,
And in sweet rapture there enjoy'd her charms.
In Richmond's venerable woods and wilds,
The calm retreat, where weary'd Majesty,
Unbending from his cares for Britain's Peace,
Steals a few moments to indulge his own.
On Oatland's brow, where Grandeur sits enthron'd,
Smiling on Beauty. In the lovely vale
Of Esher, where the mole glides lingering, loth
To leave such scenes of sweet simplicity.
In Woburn's ornamented fields, where gay
Variety, where mingled lights and shades,
Where lawns and groves, and opening prospects break,
With sweet surprize, upon the wandering eye.
On Hagley's hills, irregular and wild,
Where thro' romantic scenes of hanging woods,
And vallies green, and rocks, and hollow dales,
While Echo talks, and Nymphs and Dryads play,
Thou rov'st enamour'd; leading by the hand
Its Master, who, inspir'd with all thy Art,
Adds beauties to what Nature plan'd so fair.

Hail sweet Retirement! Wisdom's peaceful seat!
Where lifted from the crowd, and calmly plac'd
Beyond the deafening roar of human strife,
Th' Athenian sage his happy followers taught,
That Pleasure sprang from Virtue. Gracious Heaven!
How worthy thy divine beneficence,
This fair establish'd truth! ye blissful bowers,

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Ye vocal groves whose echoes caught his lore,
O might I hear, thro' Time's long tract convey'd,
The moral lessons taught beneath your shades!
And lo, transported to the sacred scenes,
Such the divine enchantment of the Muse,
I see the sage; I hear, I hear his voice.
“The end of life is Happiness; the means
“That end to gain, fair Virtue gives alone.
“From the vain phantoms of delusive Fear,
“Or strong Desire's intemp'rance, spring the woes
“Which human life embitter. Oh, my sons,
“From Error's darkening clouds, from groundless Fear
“Enfeebling all her powers, with early skill,
“Clear the bewilder'd mind. Let Fortitude
“Establish in your breasts her stedfast throne;
“So shall the stings of Evil fix no wound:
“Nor dread of poverty, nor pain, nor grief,
“Nor life's disasters, nor the fear of death,
“Shake the just purpose of your steady souls.
“The golden curb of Temp'rance next prepare,
“To rein th' impetuous sallies of Desire.
“He who the kindling sparks of Anger checks,
“Shall ne'er with fruitless tears in vain lament
“Its flame's destructive rage. Who from the vale
“Ambition's dangerous pinacle surveys;
“Safe from the blast which shakes the towering pile,
“Enjoys secure repose, nor dreads the storm
“When public clamours rise. Who cautious turns
“From lewd Temptation smiling in the eye
“Of Wantonness, hath burst the golden bands
“Of future Anguish; hath redeem'd his frame
“From early feebleness, and dire disease.
“Who lets the griping hand of Av'rice pinch

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“To narrow selfishness the social heart;
“Excludes fair Friendship, Charity, and Love,
“From their divine exertions in his breast.
“And see, my friends, this Garden's little bound,
“So small the wants of Nature, well supplies
“Our board with plenty; roots, or wholesome pulse,
“Or herbs, or flavour'd fruits: and from the stream
“The hand of Moderation fills a cup,
“The thirst delicious. Hence nor fevers rise,
“Nor surfeits, nor the boiling blood, inflam'd
“With-turbid violence, the veins distends.
“Hear then, and weigh the moment of my words.
“Who thus the sensual appetites restrain,
“Enjoy the heavenly Venus of these shades,
“Celestial Pleasure; tranquil and secure,
“From Pain, Disease, and anxious Troubles free.

The late Mr. Tull, of Shalborne in Berkshire, in his Horse-hoeing Husbandry; of an Essay on the Principles of Vegetation and Tillage.

The hoe-plough.

Covent Garden, which is now a market for greens, roots, &c. was formerly a garden belonging to the monks of St. Martin's convent.

The bark of oak, after it hath been used by the tanner. It is frequently made use of for hot-beds, particularly for raising pine-apples; and is called by the gardeners, Tan.

If weeds are suffer'd to stand till they are ripe before they are made this use of, their seeds will fill the ground, and it will be difficult to get them out again.

The officers on board the Spanish fleet in 1588, called the Invincible Armada, had it in their orders, if they could not subdue the island, at least to destroy the forest of Dean, which is in the neighbourhood of the river Severn.

The Gelder Rose.

The taste for strait lines, regular platforms, and clipt trees, was imported from Holland at the Revolution.

Mr. Southcote's

Epicurus; who on account of teaching in his garden, was call'd the Garden Philosopher; and his disciples, the Philosophers of the Garden.

He plac'd in his garden a statue of the Venus Celestis which probably he might intend should be symbolical of his Doctrine.

134

CANTO THE THIRD.

ARGUMENT.

Of hay-making. A method of preserving hay from being mow-burnt, or taking fire. Of harvest, and the harvest-home. The praises of England with regard to its various products. Apples. Hops. Hemp. Flax. Coals. Fuller's-earth. Stone. Lead. Tin. Iron. Dyer's Herbs. Esculents. Medicinals. Transitions from the cultivation of the earth to the care of sheep, cattle and horses. Of feeding sheep. Of their diseases. Sheep-shearing. Of improving the breed. Of the dairy and its products. Of horses. The draught-horse—road-horse—hunter—race-horse —and war-horse. Concluding with an address to the Prince to prefer the arts of Peace to those of War.

While thus at ease, beneath embellish'd shades,
We rove delighted; lo! the ripening mead
Calls forth the labouring hinds. In slanting rows,
With still-approaching step, and level'd stroke

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The early mower, bending o'er his scythe,
Lays low the slender grass; emblem of Man,
Falling beneath the ruthless hand of Time.
Then follows blithe, equipt with fork and rake,
In light array, the train of nymphs and swains.
Wide o'er the field, their labour seeming sport,
They toss the withering herbage. Light it flies,
Borne on the wings of Zephyr; whose soft gale,
Now while th' ascending sun's bright beam exhales
The grateful sweetness of the new-mown hay,
Breathing refreshment, fans the toiling swain.
And soon, the jocund dale and echoing hill
Resound with merriment. The simple jest,
The village tale of scandal, and the taunts
Of rude unpolish'd wit, raise sudden bursts
Of laughter from beneath the spreading oak,
Where thrown at ease, and shelter'd from the sun,
The plain repast, and wholesome bev'rage cheer
Their spirits. Light as air they spring, renew'd,
To social labour: soon the ponderous wain
Moves slowly onwards with its fragrant load,
And swells the barn capacious: or, to crown
Their toil, large tapering pyramids they build,
The magazines of Plenty, to ensure
From Winter's want the flocks, and lowing herds.

But do the threatning clouds precipitate
Thy work, and hurry to the field thy team,
Ere the sun's heat, or penetrating wind,
Hath drawn its moisture from the fading grass?
Or hath the bursting shower thy labours drench'd
With sudden innundation? Ah, with care
Accumulate thy load, or in the mow,

136

Or on the rising rick. The smother'd damps,
Fermenting, glow within; and latent sparks
At length ingender'd, kindle by degrees,
Till, wide and wider spreading, they admit
The fatal blast, which instantly consumes,
In flames resistless, thy collected store.
This dire disaster to avoid, prepare
A hollow basket, or the concave round
Of some capacious vessel; to its sides
Affix a triple cord: then let the swains,
Full in the center of thy purpos'd heap,
Place the obtrusive barrier; raising still
As they advance, by its united bands,
The wide machine. Thus leaving in the midst
An empty space, the cooling air draws in,
And from the flame, or from offensive taints
Pernicious to thy cattle, saves their food.

And now the ruler of the golden day,
From the fierce Lion glows with heat intense;
While Ceres on the ripening field looks down
In smiles benign. Now with enraptur'd eye,
The end of all his toil, and its reward,
The Farmer views. Ah, gracious Heaven! attend
His fervent prayer: restrain the tempest's rage,
The dreadful blight disarm; nor in one blast
The products of the labouring year destroy!
Yet vain is Heaven's indulgence; for when now
In ready ranks th' impatient reapers stand,
Arm'd with the scythe or sickle:—echoes shrill
Of winding horns, the shouts and hallowings loud
Of huntsmen, and the cry of opening hounds,
Float in the gale melodious, but invade

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His frighted sense with dread. Near and more near
Th' unwelcome sounds approach; and sudden o'er
His fence the tall stag bounds: in close pursuit
The hunter train, on many a noble steed,
Undaunted follow; while the eager pack
Burst unresisted thro' the yielding hedge.
In vain, unheard, the wretched hind exclaims:
The ruin of his crop in vain laments:
Deaf to his cries, they traverse the ripe field
In cruel exultation; trampling down
Beneath their feet, in one short moment's sport,
The peace, the comfort of his future year.
Unfeeling Wealth! ah, when wilt thou forbear
Thy insults, thy injustice to the Poor?
When taste the bliss of nursing in thy breast
The sweet sensations of Humanity?

Yet all are not destroyers: some unspoil'd
By Fortune, still preserve a feeling heart.
And see the yellow fields, with labourers spread,
Resign their treasures to the reaper's hand.
Here stands in comely order on the plain,
And cluster'd sheafs, the king of golden corn,
Unbearded Wheat, support of human life:
There rises in round heaps the maltster's hope,
Grain which the reaper's care sollicits best
By tempting promises of potent beer,
The joy, the meed of thirst-creating toil:
The poor man's clammy fare the sickle reaps;
The steed's light provender obeys the scythe.

138

Labour and mirth united, glow beneath
The mid-day sun; the laughing hinds rejoice;
Their master's heart is open'd, and his eye
Looks with indulgence on the gleaning Poor,
At length, adorn'd with boughs and garlands gay,
Nods the last load along the shouting field.
Now to the God of Harvest in a song
The grateful Farmer pays accepted thanks,
With joy unfeign'd: while to his ravish'd ear
The gratulations of assisting swains
Are music. His exulting soul expands:
He presses every aiding hand; he bids
The plenteous feast, beneath some spreading tree,
Load the large board; and circulates the bowl,
The copious bowl, unmeasur'd, unrestrain'd,
A free libation to th' immortal Gods,
Who crown with plenty the prolific soil.

Hail, favour'd Island! happy Region, hail!
Whose temperate skies, mild air, and genial dews,
Enrich the fertile glebe; blessing thy sons
With various products, to the life of Man
Indulgent. Thine Pomona's choicest gift,
The tasteful apple, rich with racy juice,
Theme of thy envy'd song, Silurian bard;
Affording to the swains, in sparkling cups,
Delicious bev'rage. Thine, on Cantium's hills,
The flow'ry hop, whose tendrils climbing round
The tall aspiring pole, bear their light heads
Aloft, in pendant clusters; which in Malt's
Fermenting tuns infus'd, to mellow age
Preserves the potent draught. Thine too the plant,
To whose tough stringy stalks thy num'rous fleets

139

Owe their strong cordage: with her sister stem,
Her fairer sister, whence Minerva's tribe,
T' enfold in softness Beauty's lovely limbs,
Present their woven texture: and from whence,
A second birth, grows the Papyrean leaf,
A tablet firm, on which the Painter-bard
Delineates thought, and to the wondering eye
Embodies vocal air, and groups the sound.

With various blessings teems thy fruitful womb.
Lo! from the depth of many a yawning mine,
Thy fossil treasures rise. Thy blazing hearts,
From deep sulphureous pits, consumeless stores
Of fuel boast. Thy oil-imbibing earth,
The fuller's mill assisting, safe defies
All foreign rivals in the clothier's art.
The builder's stone thy numerous quarries hide;
With lime, its close concomitant. The hills,
The barren hills of Derby's wildest Peak,
In lead abound; soft, fusile, malleable;
Whose ample sheets thy venerable domes,
From rough inclement storms of wind and rain,
In safety clothe. Devonia's ancient mines,
Whose treasures tempted first Phœnicia's sons
To court thy commerce, still exhaustless, yield
The valued ore, from whence, Britannia, Thou

140

Thine honour'd name deriv'st. Nor want'st thou store
Of that all-useful metal, the support
Of ev'ry art mechanic. Hence arise
In Dean's large forest numerous glowing kilns,
The rough rude ore calcining; whence convey'd
To the fierce furnace, its intenser heat
Melts the hard mass; which flows, an iron stream,
On sandy beds below: and stiffening there,
A ponderous lump, but to the hammer tam'd,
Takes from the forge, in bars, its final form.

But the glad Muse, from subterranean caves
Emerging, views with wonder and delight,
What numerous products still remain unsung.
With fish abound thy streams; thy sheltering woods
To fowl give friendly covert; and thy plains
The cloven-footed race, in various herds,
Range undisturb'd. Fair Flora's sweetest buds
Blow on thy beauteous bosom; and her fruits
Pomona pours in plenty on thy lap.

Thou to the dyer's tinging cauldron giv'st
The yellow-staining weed, luteola;
The glastum brown, with which thy naked sons

141

In ancient time their hardy limbs distain'd;
Nor the rich rubia does thine hand withold.

Grateful and salutary spring the plants
Which crown thy numerous gardens, and invite
To Health and Temperance, in the simple meal,
Unstain'd with murder, undefil'd with blood,
Unpoison'd with rich sauces, to provoke
Th' unwilling appetite to gluttony.
For this, the bulbous esculents their roots
With sweetness fill; for this, with cooling juice
The green herb spreads its leaves; and opening buds,
And flowers, and seeds, with various flavours tempt
Th' ensanguin'd palate from its savage feast.

Nor hath the God of Physick and of Day
Forgot to shed kind influence on thy plants
Medicinal. Lo! from his beaming rays
Their various energies to every herb
Imparted flow. He the salubrious leaf
Of cordial sage, the purple-flowering head
Of fragrant lavendar, enlivening mint,
Valerian's fetid smell, endows benign
With their cephalic virtues. He the root
Of broad angelica, and tufted flower
Of creeping chamomile, impregnates deep
With powers carminative. In every brake

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Wormwood and centaury, their bitter juice,
To aid Digestion's sickly powes, refine.
The smooth althæa its balsamic wave
Indulgent pours. Eryngo's strengthening root
Surrounds thy sea-girt isle, restorative,
Fair queen of Love, to thy enfeebled sons.
Hypericum, beneath each shelt'ring bush,
Its healing virtue modestly conceals.
Thy friendly soil to liquorice imparts
Its dulcet moisture, whence the labouring lungs
Of panting Asthma find a sure relief.
The scarlet poppy, on thy painted fields,
Bows his somniferous head, inviting soon
To peaceful slumber the disorder'd mind.
Lo, from thy baum's exhilarating leaf,
The moping fiend, black Melancholy, flies;
And burning Febris, with its lenient flood
Cools her hot entrails; or embathes her limbs
In sudorific streams, that cleansing flow
From saffron's friendly spring. Thou too can'st boast
The blessed thistle, whose rejective power
Relieves the loaded viscera; and to thee
The rose, the violet their emollient leaves
On every bush, on every bank, display.

These are thy products, fair Britannia, these
The copious blessings, which thy envy'd sons,
Divided and distinguish'd from the world,
Secure and free, beneath just laws, enjoy.

143

Nor dread the ravage of destructive War;
Nor black Contagion's pestilential breath;
Nor rending Earth's convulsions,—fields, flocks, towns,
Swallow'd abrupt, in Ruin's frightful jaws;
Nor worse, far worse than all, the iron hand
Of lawless power, stretch'd o'er precarious wealth,
Lands, liberty, and life, the wanton prey
Of its enormous, unresisted gripe.

But further now in Vegetation's paths,
Thro' cultur'd fields, and woods, and waving crops,
The weary'd Muse forbears to wind her walk.
To flocks and herds her future strains aspire,
And let the listening hinds instructed hear
The closing precepts of her labour'd song.

Lo! on the side of yonder slanting hill,
Beneath a spreading oak's broad foliage, sits
The shepherd swain, and patient by his side
His watchful dog; while round the nibbling flocks
Spread their white fleeces o'er the verdant slope,
A landscape pleasing to the painter's eye.
Mark his maternal care. The tender race,
Of heat impatient, as of pinching cold
Afraid, he shelters from the rising sun,
Beneath the mountain's western side; and when
The evening beam shoots eastward, turning seeks
Th' alternate umbrage. Now to the sweetest food
Of fallow fields he leads, and nightly folds,
T' enrich th' exhausted soil: defending safe
From murd'rous thieves, and from the prowling fox,
Their helpless innocence. His skilful eye
Studious explores the latent ills which prey

145

Upon the bleating nation. The foul mange
Infectious, their impatient foot, by oft
Repeated scratchings, will betray. This calls
For his immediate aid, the spreading taint
To stop. Tobacco, in the briny wave
Infus'd, affords a wash of sovereign use
To heal the dire disease. The wriggling tail
Sure indication gives, that, bred beneath,
Devouring vermin lurk: these, or with dust
Or deaden'd lime besprinkled thick, fall off
In smother'd crowds. Diseases numerous
Assault the harmless race; but chief the Fiend
Which taints with rotteness their inward frame,
And sweeps them from the plain in putrid heaps,
A nuisance to the smell. This, this demands
His watchful care. If he perceives the fleece
In patches lost; if the dejected eye
Looks pale and languid; if the rosy gums
Change to a yellow foulness; and the breath,
Panting and short, emits a sickly stench;
Warn'd by the fatal symptoms, he removes
To rising grounds and dry, the tainted flock;
The best expedient to restore that health
Which the full pasture, or the low damp moor
Endanger'd. But if bare and barren hills,
Or dry and sandy plains, too far remov'd,
Deny their aid; he speedily prepares
Rue's bitter juce, with brine and brimstone mixt,
A powerful remedy; which from an horn
Injected, stops the dangerous malady.

Refulgent Summer now his hot domain
Hath carry'd to the tropic, and begins

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His backward journey. Now beneath the sun
Mellowing their fleeces for th' impending shears,
The woolly people in full cloathing sweat:
When the smooth current of a limpid brook
The shepherd seeks, and plunging in its waves
The frighted innocents, their whitening robes
In the clear stream grow pure. Emerging hence,
On litter'd straw the bleating flocks recline;
Till glowing heat shall dry, and breathing dews
Perspiring soft, again thro' all the fleece
Diffuse their oily fatness. Then the swain
Prepares th' elastic shears, and gently down
The patient creature lays; divesting soon
Its lighten'd limbs of their encumbering load.

O more than mines of gold, than diamonds far
More precious, more important is the fleece!
This, this the solid base on which the sons
Of Commerce build, exalted to the sky,
The structure of their grandeur, wealth, and power!
Hence in the earliest childhood of her state,
Ere yet her merchants spread the British sail,
To earth descending in a radiant cloud,
Britannia seiz'd th' invaluable spoil.
To Ocean's verge exulting swift she flew;
There, on the bosom of the bounding wave,
Rais'd on her pearly car, fair Commerce rode
Sublime, the goddess of the watry world,
On every coast, in every clime ador'd.
High waving in her hand the woolly prize,
Britannia hail'd and beckon'd to her shore
The Power benign. Invited by the Fleece,
From whence her penetrating eyes foresaw

146

What mighty honours to her name should rise,
She beam'd a gracious smile. Th' obedient winds,
Rein'd by her hand, conducted to the beach
Her sumptuous car. But more convenient place
The muse shall find, to sing the friendly league,
Which here commenc'd, to Time's remotest age,
Shall bear the glory of the British sail.

Cautious and fearful, some in early spring
Recruit their flocks; as then the wintry storms
Their tender frame hath prov'd. But he whose aim
Ambitious should aspire to mend the breed,
In fruitful Autumn stocks the bleating field
With buxom ewes, that, to their soft desires
Indulgent, he may give the noblest rams.
Yet not too early to the genial sport
Invite the modest ewe; let Michael's feast
Commemorate the deed; lest the cold hand
Of Winter pinch too hard the new-yean'd lamb.

How nice, how delicate appears his choice,
When fixing on the sire to raise his flock?
His shape, his marks, how curious he surveys?
His body large and deep, his buttocks broad
Give indication of internal strength:
Be short his legs, yet active; small his head;
So shall Lucina's pains less pungent prove,
And less the hazard of the teeming ewe:
Long be his tail, and large his wool-grown ear;
Thick, shining, white, his fleece; his hazel eye
Large, bold, and cheerful; and his horns, if horns
You chuse, not strait, but curving round and round
On either side his head. These the sole arms

147

His inoffensive mildness bears; not made
For shedding blood, nor hostile war: yet these,
When love, all-powerful, swells his breast, and pours
Into his heart new courage, these he aims,
With meditated fury at his foe.

In glowing colours, here the tempted Muse
Might paint the rushing conflict, when provok'd,
The rival rams, opposing front to front,
Spring forth with desperate madness to the fight.
But as deter'd by the superior Bard,
Whose steps, at aweful distance, I revere,
Nor dare to tread; so by the thundering strife
Of his majestic fathers of the herd,
My feebler combatants appall'd retreat.

At leisure now, O let me once again,
Once, ere I leave the cultivated fields,
My favourite Patty, in her dairy's pride,
Revisit; and the generous steeds which grace
The pastures of her swain, well-pleas'd, survey.
The lowing kine, see, at their 'custom'd hour,
Wait the returning pail. The rosy maid,
Crouching beneath their side, in copious streams
Exhausts the swelling udder. Vessels large
And broad, by the sweet hand of Neatness clean'd,
Mean-while, in decent order rang'd appear,
The milky treasure, strain'd thro' filtering lawn,
Intended to receive. At early day,
Sweet slumber shaken from her opening lids,
My lovely Patty to her dairy hies:
There from the surface of expanded bowls
She skims the floating cream, and to her churn

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Commits the rich consistence; nor disdains,
Though soft her hand, tho' delicate her frame,
To urge the rural toil; fond to obtain
The country-housewife's humble name and praise.
Continu'd agitation separates soon
The unctuous particles; with gentler strokes
And artful, soon they coalesce: at length,
Cool water pouring from the limpid spring
Into a smooth-glaz'd vessel, deep and wide,
She gathers the loose fragments to an heap;
Which in the cleansing wave well-wrought, and press'd
To one consistent golden mass, receives
The sprinkled seasoning, and of patts, or pounds,
The fair impression, the neat shape assumes.

Is cheese her care? Warm from the teat she pours
The milky flood. An acid juice infus'd,
From the dry'd stomach drawn of suckling calf,
Coagulates the whole. Immediate now
Her spreading hands bear down the gathering curd,
Which hard and harder grows; till, clear and thin,
The green whey rises separate. Happy swains!
O how I envy ye the luscious draught,
The soft salubrious beverage! To a vat,
The size and fashion which her taste approves,
She bears the snow-white heaps, her future cheese;
And the strong press establishes its form.

But nicer cates, her dairy's boasted fare,
The jelly'd cream, or custard, daintiest food,
Or cheesecake, or the cooling syllabub,
For Thyrsis she prepares; who from the field
Returning, with the kiss of love sincere,

149

Salutes her rosy lip. A tender look,
Meantime, and chearful smiles, his welcome speak:
Down to their frugal board Contentment sits,
And calls it feasting. Prattling infants dear
Engage their fond regard, and closer tye
The band of nuptial love. They, happy, feel
Each other's bliss, and both in different spheres
Employ'd, nor seek nor wish that cheating charm,
Variety, which idlers to their aid
Call in, to make the length of lazy life
Drag on less heavily. Domestic cares,
Her children and her dairy, well divide
Th' appropriated hours, and duty makes
Employment pleasure. He, delighted, gives
Each busy season of the rolling year,
To raise, to feed, t'improve the generous horse;
And fit for various use his strength or speed.

Dull, patient, heavy, of large limbs robust,
Whom neither beauty marks, nor spirits fire;
Him, to the servile toil of dragging slow
The burthen'd carriage; or to drudge beneath
A ponderous load impos'd, his justice dooms.
Yet, straining in th' enormous cars which crowd
Thy bustling streets, Augusta, queen of trade,
What noble beasts are seen? sweating beneath
Their toil, and trembling at the driver's whip,
Urg'd with malicious fury on the parts
Where feeling lives most sensible of pain.
Fell tyrants, hold! forbear your hell-born rage!
See ye not every sinew, every nerve
Stretch'd even to bursting? Villains!—but the Muse,
Quick from the savage ruffians turns her eye

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Frowning indignant. Steeds of hardier kind,
And cool tho' spritely, to the travel'd road
He destines; sure of foot, of steady pace,
Active, and persevering, uncompel'd,
The tedious length of many a beaten mile.

But not alone to these inferior tribes
Th' ambitious swain confines his generous breed.
Hark! in his fields, when now the distant sounds
Of winding horns, and dogs, and huntsmen's shout,
Awake the sense, his kindling hunter neighs:
Quick start his ears erect, his beating heart
Exults, his light limbs bound, he bears aloft,
Rais'd by tumultuous joy, his tossing head;
And all impatient for the well-known sport,
Leaps the tall fence, and listening to the cry,
Pursues with voluntary speed the chace.
See! o'er the plain he sweeps, nor hedge nor ditch
Obstructs his eager flight; nor straining hills,
Nor headlong steeps deter the vigorous steed:
Till join'd at length, associate of the sport,
He mingles with the train, stops as they stop,
Pursues as they pursue, and all the wild
Enlivening raptures of the field enjoys.

Easy in motion, perfect in his form,
His boasted lineage drawn from steeds of blood,
He the fleet courser too, exulting shews,
And points with pride his beauties. Neatly set
His lively head, and glowing in his eye
True spirit lives. His nostril wide, inhales
With ease the ambient air. His body firm
And round, upright his joints, his horny hoofs

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Small, shining, light; and large his ample reach.
His limbs, tho' slender, brac'd with sinewy strength,
Declare his winged speed. His temper mild,
Yet high his mettled heart. Hence in the race,
All emulous, he hears the clashing whips;
He feels the animating shouts; exerts
With eagerness his utmost powers; and strains,
And springs, and flies, to reach the destin'd goal.

But lo! the boast, the glory of his stalls,
His warrior steed appears. What comely pride
What dignity, what grace, attend on all
His motions? See! exulting in his strength,
He paws the ground impatient. On his brow
Courage enthroned sits, and animates
His fearless eye. He bends his arched crest,
His mane loose-flowing, ruffles in the wind,
Cloathing his chest with fury. Proud, he snorts,
Champs on the foaming bit, and prancing high,
Disdainful seems to tread the sordid earth.
Yet hears he and obeys his master's voice,
All gentleness: and feels, with conscious pride,
His dappled neck clap'd with a cheering hand.
But when the battle's martial sounds invade
His ear, when drums and trumpets loud proclaim
The rushing onset; when thick smoke, when fire
Bursts thundering from the cannon's aweful mouth;
Then all inspir'd he kindles into flame!
Intrepid, neighs aloud; and, panting, seems
Impatient to express his swelling joys
Unutterable. On Danger's brink he stands,
And mocks at Fear. Then springing with delight,
Plunges into the wild confusion. Terror flies

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Before his dreadful front; and in his rear
Destruction marks her bloody progress. Such,
Such was the steed Thou, Cumberland, bestrod'st,
When black Rebellion fell beneath thy hand,
Rome and her papal tyranny subdu'd,
On great Culloden's memorable field.
Such thine, unconquer'd Marlborough, when the throne
Of Lewis totter'd, and thy glittering steel
On Blenheim's plain immortal trophies reap'd,
And such, O Prince! great patron of my theme,
Should e'er insidious France again presume
On Europe's freedom, such, tho' all averse
To slaughtering war, thy country shall present
To bear her Hero to the martial plain,
Arm'd with the sword of justice. Other cause
Ne'er shall Ambition's sophistry perswade
Thine honour to espouse. Britannia's peace;
Her sacred rights; her just, her equal laws;
These, these alone, to cherish or defend,
Shall raise thy youthful arm, and wake to war,
To dreadful war, the British Lion's rage.

But milder stars on thy illustrious birth
Their kindest influence shed. Beneath the smile
Of thy indulgence, the protected Arts
Lifting their graceful heads; her envy'd sail
Fair Commerce spreading to remotest climes;
And Plenty rising from th' encourag'd Plough;
Shall feed, enrich, adorn, the happy land.

Rye, on which is made a coarse clammy kind of bread, used by the poorer people in many parts of England, on account of its cheapness.

Minerva is said to have invented the art of weaving.

The leaf of the Egyptian plant, Papyrus, was anciently used for writing upon; from whence is derived the present name of our material called Paper.

Fuller's earth is found in no other country; and as it is of so great a use in the manufacturing of cloth, the exportation of it is prohibited. Dr. Woodward says this fossil is of more value to England than the mines of Peru would be.

The learned antiquary, Bochart, is of opinion, that the Phœnicians, coming to buy tin in the island of Albion, gave it the name of Barat-Anac, that is, the Land or Country of Tin: which being soften'd by the Greeks into Britannia, was adopted by the Romans. This etymology seems to be confirm'd by the Grecians calling the isles of Scilly, Cassiterides, which signifies in Greek, the same as Barat-Anac in Phœnician. Rapin.

Weld, commonly call'd Dyer's weed.

Woad.

Madder, which is used by the dyers for making the most solid and richest red; and as Mortimer observes, was thought so valuable in King Charles the First's time, that it was made a Patent Commodity. But the cultivation of it hath since been so strangely neglected, that we now purchase from the Dutch the greatest part of what we use, to the amount, as Mr. Millar, in his Gardener's Dictionary says he hath been inform'd, of near thirty thousand pounds a year.

Marsh-mallows.

St. John's-wort.

Carduus, call'd by physical writers Carduus benedictus.