D.
THE GARDEN.
Phœnicia's gardens have enough been sung,
Enough the praise of proud Versailles has rùng;
Where stiff in rows the walks and groups are made,
And Nature's corpse at Euclid's feet is laid.
Rise, rustic Muse, and sing, in simple strain
——'s little garden, small in vain;
Where Art in Nature's wildest pathway treads,
And boldly follows wheresoe'er she leads,
Where rivers flow, where rocks stupendous rise,
And where th'expanded lake reflects the skies.
First, from the house o'er level walks we pass,
With flowers bordered, and with verdant grass;
Here roses and diosmas freely grow,
Here heaths and beauteous myrtles deign to blow;
Here clove carnations catch the dazzled sight,
And helianthus pours a blaze of light.
A rural trelliage gate we now pass through,
Shaded and arched o'erhead by lilac blue:
The sumach with the dahlia here combines,
And coreopsis, bright in beauty, joins.
Thence to the left we turn, ascending high,
A rising hill salutes the gazing eye;
Far on the right extends a verdant mead;
Rocks on the other side to rocks succeed;
Pomona's offerings overhang the road,
Scarce can the branches bear the luscious load;
Geraniums smile beneath the solar ray,
And antirrhinum courts the eye of day:
Thine arms, convolvulus, each tree embrace,
And gentianella beautifies the place.
A length of pleasant walk we now must tread,
To reach a bridge across a river spread;
Here, pleased to rest, a rustic bower we view,
Where our exhausted strength we can renew.
Such varied charms this lovely seat can boast,
We know not which to like or praise the most.
Within, all neatness, Flora for her own
Has fix'd this spot, and here has placed her throne;
Without, th'acacia waves her graceful head,
The glowing cistus all around is spread,
The holyoak its varied beauty shews,
And ivy gives the scene its due repose.
Recruited now, we leave the sylvan seat,
And view the precincts of the sweet retreat;
Far on the left old Bacchus' plant appears,
Each lengthen'd branch the luscious fruitage bears;
No trees are near, and here, in pomp display'd,
Are all those flowerets which avoid the shade.
Border'd with grass the winding path proceeds,
Thro' numerous groups of flowers it homeward leads;
Again the flower garden paths we tread,
And to the house by Friendship's hand are led.]
