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Which neatly she prepares; then to his book

Well chosen, and not sullenly perused

In selfish silence, but imparted oft

As aught occurs that she may smile to hear

Or turn to nourishment digested well.

Or if the garden with its many cares,

All well repaid, demand him, he attends

The welcome call, conscious how much he hand

Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye.

Oft loitering lazily if not o'erseen,

Or misapplying his unskilful strength.

Nor does he govern only or direct,

But much performs himself; no works indeed

That ask robust tough sinews bred to toil,

Servile employ,—but such as may amuse,

Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.

Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees

That meet, (no barren interval between,)

With pleasure more than even their fruits afford,

Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel.

These therefore are his own peculiar charge;

No meaner hand may discipline the shoots,

None but his steel approach them. What is weak,

Distempered, or has lost prolific powers

Impaired by age, his unrelenting hand

I )ooms to the knife. Nor does he spare the soft

And succulent that feeds its giant growth

But barren, at the expense of neighbouring twigs

Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick

With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left

That may disgrace his art, or disappoint

Large expectation, he disposes neat

At measured distances, that air and sun

Admitted freely may afford their aid,

And ventilate and warm the swelling buds.

Hence summer has her riches, autumn hence,

And hence even winter fills his withered hand

With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own.

Fair recompense of labour well bestowed

And wise precaution, which a clime so rude

Makes needful still, whose spring is but the child

Of churlish winter, in her froward moods

Discovering much the temper of her sire.

For oft, as if in her the stream of mild

Maternal nature had reversed its course,

She brings her infants forth with many smiles,

But once delivered, kills them with a frown.

I le therefore, timely warned, himself supplies

Her want of care, screening and keeping warm

The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep

His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft

A.s the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild,

I

The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam,
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day.

To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd
So grateful to the palate, and when rare
So coveted, else base and disesteemed,—
Food for the vulgar merely,—is an art
That toiling ages have but just matured,
And at this moment unessayed in song.
Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice long since
Their eulogy; those sang the Mantuan bard.
And these the Grecian in ennobling strains;
And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye
The solitary shilling. Pardon then,
Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame!
The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers
Presuming an attempt not less sublime,
Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste
Of critic appetite, no sordid fare,
A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce.

The stable yields a stercorarious heap
Impregnated with quick fermenting salts,
And potent to resist the freezing blast.
For ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf
Deciduous, and when now November dark
Checks vegetation in the torpid plant
Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins.
Warily therefore, and with prudent heed
He seeks a favoured spot, that where he builds
The agglomerated pile, his frame may front
The sun's meridian disk, and at the back
Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge
Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread
Dry fern or littered hay, that may imbibe
The ascending damps; then leisurely impose,
And lightly, shaking it with agile hand
From the full fork, the saturated straw.
What longest binds the closest, forms secure
The shapely side, that as it rises takes
By just degrees an overhanging breadth,
Sheltering the base with its projected eaves.
The uplifted frame compact at every joint,
And overlaid with clear translucent glass,
He settles next upon the sloping mount,
Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure
From the dashed pane the deluge as it falls:
He shuts it close, and the first labour ends.
Thrice must the voluble and restless earth
Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth
Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass
Diffused, attain the surface. When behold!
A pestilent and most corrosive steam,
Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast,

And fast condensed upon the dewy sash,

Asks egress; which obtained, the overcharged

And drenched conservatory breathes abroad

In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank,

And purified, rejoices to have lost

Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage

The impatient fervour which it first conceives

Within its reeking bosom, threatening death

To his young hopes, requires discreet delay.

Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft

The way to glory by miscarriage foul,

Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch

The auspicious moment, when the tempered heat

Friendly to vital motion, may afford

Some fermentation, and invite the seed.

The seed selected wisely, plump and smooth

And glossy, he commits to pots of size

Diminutive, well filled with well-prepared

And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long,

And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds.

These on the warm and genial earth that hides

The smoking manure and o'erspreads it all,

He places lightly, and as time subdues

The rage of fermentation, plunges deep

In the soft medium, till they stand immersed.

Then rise the tender germs upstarting quick

And spreading wide their spongy lobes, at first

Pale, wan, and livid, but assuming soon,

If fanned by balmy and nutritious air

Strained through the friendly mats, a vivid green.

Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves,

Cautious he pinches from the second stalk

A pimple, that poitends a future sprout,

And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed

The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish,

Prolific all, and harbingers of more.

The crowded roots demand enlargement now

And transplantation in an ampler space.

Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply

Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers,

Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit.

These have their sexes ; and when summer shines

The bee transports the fertilizing meal

From flower to flower, and even the breathing air

Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use.

Not so when winter scowls: assistant art

Then acts in nature's office, brings to pass

The glad espousals and insures the crop.

Grudge not, ye rich, (since luxury must have His dainties, and the world's more numerous half Lives by contriving delicates for you,) Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares,

The vigilance, the labour, and the skill
That day and night are exercised, and hang
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,
That ye may garnish your profuse regales
With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns.
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart
The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam,
Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming (lies
Minute as dust and numberless, oft work
Dire disappointment that admits no cure,
And which no care can obviate. It were long,
Too long to tell the expedients and the shifts
Which he that fights a season so severe
Devises, while he guards his tender trust,
And oft, at last, in vain. The learned and wise
Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song
Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit
Of too much labour, worthless when produced.
Who loves a garden, loves a green-house too.
Unconscious of a less propitious clime
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug,
While the winds whistle and the snows descend.
The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf
Shines there and flourishes. The golden boast
Of Portugal and western India there,
The ruddier orange and the paler lime,
Peep through their polished folia ge at the storm,
And seem to smile at what they need not fear.
The amomum there with intermingling flowers
And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts
Her crimson honours, and the spangled beau
Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long.
All plants of every leaf that can endure
The winter's frown, if screened from his shrewd bite,
Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims,
Levantine regions these; the Azores send
Their jessamine, her jessamine remote
Caffraria; foreigners from many lands
They form one social shade, as if convened
By magic summons of the Orphean lyre.
Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass
But by a master's hand, disposing well
The gay diversities of leaf and flower,
Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms,
And dress the regular yet various scene.
Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van
The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still
Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.
So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome,
A noble show I while Roscius trod the stage;
And so, while Garrick as renowned as he,
The sons of Albion,—fearing each to lose

Some note of Nature's music from his lips,
And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty seen
In every flash of his far-beaming eye,
Nor taste alone and well-contrived display
Suffice to give the marshalled ranks the grace
Of their complete effect. Much yet remains
Unsung, and many cares are yet behind
And more laborious; cares on which depends
Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored.
The soil must be renewed, which often washed
Loses its treasure of salubrious salts,
And disappoints the roots; the slender roots
Close interwoven where they meet the vase
Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch
Must fly before the knife; the withered leaf
Must be detached, and where it strews the floor
Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else
Contagion, and disseminating death.
Discharge but these kind offices, (and who
Would spare, that loves them, offices like these?)
Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased,
The scent regaled; each odoriferous leaf,
Each opening blossom freely breathes abroad
Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.

So manifold, all pleasing in their kind,
All healthful, are the employs of rural life,
Reiterated as the wheel of time
Runs round, still ending, and beginning still.
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll
That softly swelled and gaily dressed, appears
A flowery island from the dark green lawn
Emerging, must be deemed a labour due
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste.
Here also grateful mixture of well matched
And sorted hues, (each giving each relief,
And by contrasted beauty shining more,)
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade,
May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home,
But elegance, chief grace the garden shows
And most attractive, is the fair result
Of thought, the creature of a polished mind.
Without it, all is Gothic as the scene
To which the insipid citizen resorts
Near yonder heath; where industry misspent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,
Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons
Of close-rammed stones has charged the encumbered soil,
And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.
He therefore who would see his flowers disposed
Sightly and in just order, ere he gives
The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds
Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene

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