THE TWO GARDENS. 165 choly atmosphere of those chambers in which I had so long alternately shivered and burned, were the two large gardens, the one of flowers, the other of fruits and vegetables, belonging to the ample and picturesque hotel. Not through the Minster's dark grandæval Pile, A cloister'd Empress up the pale Ancestral Aisle; Not in that old Patrician Palace hall Superbly hung for solemn festival, Where gorgeous umber'd beams through Pictured Windows fall; Not where the haunted Feudal Corridor Hears steps unearthly shake the thund'ring floor, And hollow nightwinds wave grim Tapestries red with gore; Not in those Vaults of drear Captivity, Where, in the bursting heart and tearless eye, Nor in those free and voiceful Solitudes, But o'er yon solitary Garden walk, Fain would I chaunt to Him who gives me Rest Never can I forget the first afternoon, when, an hour before Sunset I found myself in the Garden of Herbs, or Orchard, or Melon-ground, or Vine yard, for it was all these; gazing on the fantastic screen of the Mont Chat, whose mighty bosom was deepening from blue to purple, and from purple to black, as the dazzling orb wheeled nearer to its goal behind that crouching Cat, which gives the mountain both its title and its Crest. I have always dearly loved a Garden, but especially a quaint old fashioned inclosure like this. Here were walks of turf or gravel, broad or narrow, basking between borders of particoloured flowers, or lurking underneath long trellices of vines, whose rich and most beautiful foliage enhanced those amber and amethystine clusters which they scarcely veiled. Huge fruit trees overloaded with Apple, Plum, and Pear, spread their umbrageous shadows over one side of the garden, while the other, basking beneath the genial sky, exposed its broad open Plots to the sunshine, where the green and golden orbs of the Melons, spreading in almost neglected luxuriance, lay side by side, a strange vicinity, with the fringy verdure and crimson berries of the Alpine Strawberry beds. Every variety of aromatic or savoury herb, Lavender, Bergamot, Rosemary, Thyme, Marjoram, Sage, Mint, and others, it were long to name, embalmed the air with various odours, and a certain sheltered nook behind a cluster of Marigolds crowded with the Straw-palaces of the Bee, declared at once that those fragrant bushes were planted for the yellow Honey-comb, at least as SUMMER-HOUSES. 167 much as for the savoury projections of the Kitchen Fire. This noble old garden is surrounded by stone walls, engrained with every tincture which moss or lichen, or the mountain ore can impart. Here and there they swelled into old fashioned Alcoves, or Summer halls, with steep green steps and rusty Vanes; in other parts their aged masonry was adorned with arbours of Jessamine, Ivy, clustering Roses, and Vines, and in every other part their hoary surface was disputed between the enor mous foliage of the Fig tree, and the flask-shaped fruitage of the Gourd. But the flowers, the flowers, Autumn's earliest and Summer's last, for we stood upon the threshold of these seasons-the flowers delighted, revived me, more than even the fresh airs that from the golden West breathed above the laden fruit trees. It is true, the painted Gillyflower, and the luscious Violet, had long withdrawn their beauties and their sweets; true, the last Rose of Provence had already strewn the parterre with half her lovely leaves; but still the Orange-flower, the Jessamine, the Sweet-pea, and the Mignonette, mingled, as in one vase, their ravishing perfumes; still that gorgeous flower, the Clytie of Mythology, turned her superb tiara towards her departing lord; while whole phalanxes of those floral Anakim, the Holyhock and the Dahlia, more glorious than the royal raiment of Solomon, 168 CONVALESCENCE IN A GARDEN. appeared graciously to compensate their want of fragrance, by their majestic height and most magnificent turbans. Partners of the same broad parterres, but somewhat humbler of stature, and at a respectful distance, the lilac clusters of the tall Floxia, and the golden spikes of Aaron's Rod, recalled the tenderest recollections of my childhood. While, mingled with the peacock hues of the Aster, the fiery flowers of the Nasturtium composed a particoloured pavement to this place of Flowers. Here then I stood, a captive newly emancipated from the tossings and weariness of a sick bed. A prey, snatched as it were from the very jaws of death, surrounded by all the refreshments and delights of that earliest Gift from God to Man-a Garden. How lately had I fathomed the fearful depths of those menaces in Deuteronomy: Thy life shall hang in doubt before thee; and thou shalt fear day and night, and shall have none assurance of thy life: in the morning thou shalt say, would God it were even! and at even thou shalt say, would God it were morning." Oh, what a blissful change. I had dwelt in darkness, scared rather than cheered by the taper's flame, and was restored to light;-in silence unbroken, save by the subdued voice and stealthy step, and lo! the melody of singing birds is in mine ear, chanting their vespers to the balmy SOCIABILITY OF FLOWERS. 169 twilight. The curtains of my sick bed, the walls of my sick chamber, have fleeted away like a dream! The mighty mountains are before and around me; the vault of Heaven above, kindling for me, yes! for me, its golden lamps; for me breathing health and comfort from its odorous censers: while at my feet and at my side, blushing a thousand colours, breathing a thousand odours, are flowers, dear flowers! "Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, Fall'n all beside-the world of life, But cheerful and unchanged the while, Your first and perfect form ye shew, Ye dwell beside our Paths and Homes, The Birds of air before us fleet, They cannot brook our shame to meet- And come again to-morrow." KEBLE'S CHRISTIAN YEAR. |