THE

ENGLISH GARDEN.

BOOK IV.

NOR yet, divine Simplicity! withdraw
That aid auspicious, which, in Art's domain,
Already has reform'd whate'er prevail'd
Of foreign or of false; has led the curve
That Nature loves through all her silvan haunts;
Has stolen the fence unnoticed that arrests
Her vagrant herds; given lustre to her lawns,
Gloom to her groves, and in expanse serene
Devolved that watery mirror at her foot
O'er which she loves to bend and view her charms.
And tell me thou, whoe'er hast new arranged
By her chaste rules thy garden, if thy heart
Feels not the warm, the self-dilating glow
Of true benevolence. Thy flocks, thy herds,
That browse luxurious o'er those very plots
Which once were barren,bless thee for the change;
The birds of air (which thy funereal yews
Of shape uncouth, and leaden sons of earth,
Antæus and Enceladus, with clubs

Uplifted, long had frighted from the scene)
Now pleased return, they perch on every spray,
And swell their little throats, and warble wild
Their vernal minstrelsy; to heaven and thee
It is a hymn of thanks; do thou, like heaven,
With tutelary care reward their song.

Erewhile the Muse, industrious to combine Nature's own charms, with these alone adorn'd The genius of the scene; but other gifts

She has in store, which gladly now she brings,
And he shall proudly wear. Know,when she broke
The spells of Fashion, from the crumbling wreck
Of her enchantments, sagely did she cull
Those relics rich of old Vitruvian skill,
With what the sculptor's hand in classic days
Made breathe in brass or marble; these the hag
Had purloin'd, and disposed in Folly's fane;
To him these trophies of her victory

She bears; and where his awful nod ordains
Conspicuous means to place. He shall direct
Her dubious judgment from the various hoard
Of ornamental treasures how to choose
The simplest and the best; on these his seal
Shall stamp great Nature's image and his own,
To charm for unborn ages.-Fling the rest
Back to the beldame, bid her whirl them all
In her vain vortex, lift them now to day,
Now plunge in night, as through the humid rack
Of April cloud swift flits the trembling beam.
But precepts tire, and this fastidious age
Rejects the strain didactic: try we then
In livelier narrative the truths to veil
We dare not dictate. Sons of Albion, hear!
The tale I tell is full of strange event,

And piteous circumstance; yet deem not ye,
If names I feign, that therefore facts are feign'd:
Nor hence refuse (what most augments the charm
Of storied woe) that fond credulity

Which binds the' attentive soul in closer chains.
At manhood's prime Alcander's duteous tear

Fell on his father's grave. The fair domain,
Which then became his ample heritage,
That father had reform'd; each line destroy'd
Which Belgic dulness plann'd; and Nature's self
Restored to all the rights she wish'd to claim.
Crowning a gradual hill his mansion rose
In ancient English grandeur: turrets, spires,
And windows, climbing high from base to roof
In wide and radiant rows, bespoke its birth
Coeval with those rich cathedral fanes
(Gothic ill named) where harmony results
From disunited parts; and shapes minute,
At once distinct and blended, boldly form
One vast majestic whole. No modern art
Had marr'd with misplaced symmetry the pile.
Alcander held it sacred: on a height,

Which westering to its site the front survey'd,
He first his taste employ'd: for there a line
Of thinly scatter'd beech too tamely broke
The blank horizon. Draw we round
yon knowl
(Alcander cried) in stately Norman mode
A wall embattled; and within its guard
Let every structure needful for a farm
Arise in castle-semblance; the huge barn
Shall with a mock portcullis arm the gate,
Where Ceres entering, o'er the flail-proof floor
In golden triumph rides; some tower rotund
Shall to the pigeons and their callow young
Safe roost afford; and every buttress broad,
Whose proud projection seems a mass of stone,
Give space to stall the heifer and the steed.
So shall each part, though turn'd to rural use,
Deceive the eye with those bold feudal forms
That Fancy loves to gaze on.' This achieved,

Now nearer home he calls returning Art

To hide the structure rude where Winter pounds
In conic pit his congelations hoar,

That Summer may his tepid beverage cool
With the chill luxury; his dairy too

There stands of form unsightly: both to veil,
He builds of old disjointed moss-grown stone
A time-struck abbey'. An impending grove
Screens it behind with reverential shade;
While bright in front the stream reflecting spreads,
Which winds a mimic river o'er his lawn.
The fane conventual there is dimly seen,
The mitred window, and the cloister pale,
With many a mouldering column; ivy soon
Round the rude chinks her net of foliage spreads;
Its verdant meshes seem to prop the wall.

One native glory, more than all sublime, Alcander's scene possess'd: 'twas Ocean's selfHe, boisterous king, against the eastern cliffs Dash'd his white foam; a verdant vale between Gave splendid ingress to his world of waves. Slanting this vale the mound of that clear stream Lay hid in shade, which slowly laved his lawn: But there set free, the rill resumed its pace

1 A time-struck abbey. An impending grove.] It was said in the first book, p. 184, l. 1-4, that of those architectural objects which improved a fine natural English prospect, the two principal were the castle and the abbey. In conformity with this idea, Alcander first begins to exercise his taste, by forming a resemblance of those two capital artificial features, uniting them, however, with utility. The precept is here meant to be conveyed by description, which had before been given more directly in book ii. ver. 21.

Beauty scorns to dwell
Where Use is exiled.

And hurried to the main. The dell it pass'd
Was rocky and retired: here art with ease
Might lead it o'er a grot, and, filter'd there,
Teach it to sparkle down its craggy sides,
And fall and tinkle on its pebbled floor.
Here then that grot he builds, and conchs with
Moss petrified with branching corallines [spars,
In mingled mode arranges: all found here
Propriety of place; what view'd the main
Might well the shelly gifts of Thetis bear.
Not so the inland cave: with richer store
Than those the neighbouring mines and moun-
tains yield

To hang its roof, would seem incongruous pride,
And fright the local genius from the scene2.

One vernal morn, as urging here the work Surrounded by his hinds, from mild to cold The season changed, from cold to sudden storm, From storm to whirlwind. To the angry main Swiftly he turns and sees a laden ship

Dismasted by its rage.

'Hie, hie we all

(Alcander cried) quick to the neighbouring beach.' They flew; they came but only to beholdTremendous sight! the vessel dash its poop Amid the boiling breakers. Need I tell What strenuous arts were used, when all were used,

To save the sinking crew? One tender maid Alone escaped, saved by Alcander's arm,

2 And fright the local genius from the scene.] A precept is here rather more than hinted at; but it appeared to be so well founded, and yet so seldom attended to by the fabricators of grottos, that it seem'd necessary to slide back a little from the narrative into the didactic to inculcate it the more strongly.