Th' impatient fervour, which it first conceives Within it's reeking bosom, threat'ning 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 Th' auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat, Friendly to vital motion, may afford
Soft fomentation, and invite the seed.
The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, And glossy, he commits to pots of size Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar❜d And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long, And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds. These on the warm and genial earth, that hides The smoaking 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 immers❜d. Then rise the tender germes, upstarting quick, And spreading wide their spongy lobes; at first Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon, If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented leaves, Cautious he pinches from the second stalk A pimple, that portends a future sprout,
And interdicts it's 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. Indulg'd in what they wish, they soon supply Large foliage, overshad'wing golden flow'rs, Blown on the summit of th' apparent fruit. These have their sexes! and, when summer shines, The bee transports the fertilizing meal
From flow'r to flow'r, and ev'n the breathing air Wafts the rich prize to it's appointed use. Not so when winter scowls. Assistant Art Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass The glad espousals, and ensures the crop.
Grudge not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have His dainties, and the World's more num'rous 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 exercis'd, 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
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 th' 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 learn'd and wise Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as it's theme, and like it's theme the fruit Of too much labour, worthless when produc'd.
Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse 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 unwith'ring leaf Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast Of Portugal and western India there, The ruddier orange, and the paler lime,
Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. Th' amomum there with intermingling flow'rs And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honours; and the spangled beau, Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. All plants, of ev'ry leaf, that can endure
The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims,
Levantine regions these; th' Azores send Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraia foreigners from many lands, They form one social shade, as if conven'd By magic summons of th' Orphean lyre. Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass But by a master's hand, disposing well
The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r,
Must lend it's aid t' illustrate all their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene. Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retir'd, but still Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. So once were rang'd the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage; And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, The sons of Albion; fearing each to lose Some note of Nature's music from his lips, And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye. Nor taste alone and well-contriv'd display Suffice to give the marshall'd 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, injur'd soon, not soon restor❜d. ́ The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd Loses it's 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 wither'd leaf Must be detach'd, 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 pleas'd, The scent regal'd, each odorif'rous leaf, Each op'ning blossom, freely breathes abroad It's gratitude, and thanks him with it's sweets.
So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, All healthful, are th' employs of rural life, Reiterated as the wheel of time
Runs round; still ending, and beginning still. Nor are these all. Tu deck the shapely knoll, That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd appears A flow'ry island, from the dark green lawn Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd And sorted hues (each giving each relief, And by contrasted beauty shining more)
Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home;
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