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.
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
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 hand and farmer, holds her annual feast 2.
'Tis here the toiling hand of industry

Distinguish'd well with fleecy locks, expects
Observance; skill'd in wool, and lesson'd deep
In all diseases of the bleating flock.
Mixt with the rustic throng, see ruddy maids,
Some taught with dext'rous hand to twirl the wheel,
Or stroke 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, pro-
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
beard

froke

Of Patty, the fair milkmaid? Beautiful
As an Arcadian nymph, upon her brow
Sat 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.
Her 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,
Tempt thy wild thoughts to dangerous extasy.
Her shape was moulded 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,

Employment seeks. The skilful ploughman, lord Whispering her praises in each other's ear.

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 scotter 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 thresher, 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

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

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 farin,
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 beauteons
Her fair perfections playing on his mind, [form,
With pleasing anguish torture him. In vain

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,
Solicitous 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.

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 Pan3,
Who on his seven-fold pipe, to the rapt soul
Conveys the fancied music of the spheres.
See by his strains the elements inspir'd,
Join in mysterious work; their motions led
By active fire 4, 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 awful 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;
And wreaths of bending poppy crown her brow.
The other, rais'd on swan-like spreading plumes,
Glides gayly on; a milk-white robe invests
His frame transparent; in his azure eyes

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-besp inkled locks
Begin to fall, her bending shoulders sink,
And active vigour leaves her sober steps.
Winter creeps on, shrivell'd with chilling cold;
Bald his white crown, upon his silver beard
Shines the hoar frost, and icicles depend.
Rigid and stem his melancholy face;
Shivering he walks, his joints benumm'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 theine 5.

"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!

Great father of the vegetable tribes,
'The wat'ry signs forsaking, see, the Sun,

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,
The vital prin iple begins to wake:
And raise prolific ferment. Lo! at length

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;

Dwells brightness; while around his radiant head, To its own nature every different plant

A shining glory paints his flying robe,
With all the colours of the wat' y bow.
Proceeding now, in more majestic steps,
The varying Seasons join the mystic train.

2

Mythologists have thought the universal nature of things to be signified by this god; and that bis pipe, composed of seven reeds, was the symbol of the seven planets, which they say make

the harmony of the spheres.

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

mass.

Assimilating, changes. Awful Heaven!
How wond'rous is thy work! To thee! to thee!
Mysterious power belongs! Summer's fierce heat
Increasing, rarifies the ductile juice.
See, from the root, and from the bark imbib'd,
Swift thro' the stem, thro' every branching arm,
Th' e'astic air impels the rising sap.
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.

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

"See! see! the shooting verdure spreads around! | And hence the fibrous roots in quest of food,

Ye sons of men, with rapture view the scene!
On hill and dale, on meadow, field, and grove,
Cloth'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 the 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 plum,
The healthful apple, the dissolving peach,
And thy rich nectar, many-flavour'd pine.
These are the gracious gifts, O favour'd man;
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."

CANTO II.
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 clothe
The bosom of this earth with beauty. Sand,
Hot, open, loose, admits the genial ray
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 errour of the ardent soil,
With cool manure: let stiff cohesive clay
Give the loose gl be 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
Relieve the sterile coldness of the ground, [dungs
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,

Find unobstructed entrance, room to spread,
And richer juices feed the swelling shoots:
So the strong field shall to the reaper's haud
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,
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.

I

[learn?

But new improvements curious would'st thou
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 watery vehicle assumes, an I thro'

Th' ascending tubes, impell'd by subtile 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
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 taiut 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 fructify 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 fuil 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 dill by slow 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 2; form'd to exterminate
The weedy race, (intruders who devour,
But nothing pay) to pulverize the soil,
Eularge and change the pasture of the roots,

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

2 The hoc-plough.

And to its last perfection raise the crop.
He taught, alas, but practis'd ill the lore
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!
Benumming 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, [wise.
Should spring their bane? But thou alone art
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
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 band
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 gardens wide,
A theme of wonder to the distant swain.
Hence the piazza'd square3, 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 appoint
Its unctuous moisture, or the crumbling tan4
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 soot,
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 5, 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 turnip; 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 nursery thou with care select
Quick hawthorn sets, well rooted, smooth and
straight:

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 mould.
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 browsing herd.
Thus, if from weeds, that rob them of their food,
Or choke, by covering from the vital air,
The hoe's neat culture keep thy thickening shoots,
Soon shall they rise, and to the 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 cheer
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 sets, 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,
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.

3 Covent-Garden, which is now a market for Then from the summit of the fairest tree greens, roots, &c. was formerly a garden belong-His seed selected ripe, and sow'd in rills ing 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.

5 If weeds are suffered to stand till they are ripe before they are made this use of, their seeds will all the ground, and it will be difficult to get then out again.