—From a Building thus situate,
Noble Cascades and Fountains might be form'd,
Rais'd from the Silver Surface of the Stream,
In wanton Eddies flowing, circling round
The verdant Softness of its rising Side—
—Mark, in the Stream, the harmless finny
Prey,
Sportive, and fearless of th' alluring Bait,
With silent Motion cut the yeilding Flood,
This Front, thus open to the fruitful Vale,
The Ends by Woods and Gardens circumscrib'd,
Thro' which the Vista's, or more private Walks,
Form'd by the skillful Artist in Design,
And well dispos'd more distant Views to take;
Or winding Labyrinths, or secret Paths,
Where scatter'd Temples stand obscurely plac'd
Within the Limits of some solemn Grove,
Or Seats to terminate a shady Walk.
—Here the soft Musick of the feather'd
Brood,
Whose warbling Sonnets echo thro' the Woods,
In Strains melodious chant from Spray to Spray;
Some nicely binding up the tender Roots
In circling Forms, to hold their feeble Young;
Others sit silent, with uncommon Care,
To batch the shapeless Embryo in the Shell ;
Another's Care the callow Young to feed,
Or by Example lead them on the Wing,
Teach them thro' tractless Air to shape the
Way,
And shun the Dangers common to them all.
—All these has Nature made for Use of
Man,
His Eye to please, or nicely bit his Taste;
To mingle Pleasure with his common Cares,
And make the Toil of Life glide smoother on.
If Providence so wisely bas ordain'd
The humbler Class of Beings to preserve,
To cherish all the Vegetative Tribe,
And lead the Animal by Instinct on,
And all to serve that nobler Being Man;
What Pleasures may from such Retirement flow,
Where mingled Charms and Contemplation dwell?
Ev'n those who're born to Govern Humankind,
Might here feel Bliss to captivate the Mind.
—The more remoter Objects to its View:
Perhaps, the distant Group of woody Hills,
Or the more humble Verdure of the Vale;
The flowry Meadows, or the purling Stream,
And all the Beauties of a rural Scene.
The silent Groves require a little Pile,
Not deck'd with Lavishness, nor yet too grave,
The middle Path's the safest way to please.
Not so the Op'ning to some distant View,
The Vista, or the Pleasure-Gardens grace;
There let the Dress Profuseness border on,
Be wanton like the Spot, with Flowers or Fruit,
The murm'ring Streams, which Grotto's
mostly grace,
The Moss, the Shells, the Sea's productive Store,
The calcin'd Mass in rude Variety,
Require a Sameness to th' external Part:
The Dorick Pillar's massy Strength supply,
Its well robusted Form, with Rusticks mixt,
Cut by the skilful Artist into Shape.
The frozen Iscles resembled, form,
The Sea-green Weed, the Plain or Scallop'd Shell.
—Thus ev'ry Spot a various Shape assumes,
To garnish or diversify the Scene.
The lively This, in That the solemn grave,
Not much unlike the various Scenes of Life:
The Gaiety of Youth's the lively Glebe,
The graver Spot's the Verge of Age and Death.
My Friends, — could Custom be shook off
that Yoke of Art,
Where blinded Fancy guides the sickly Eye,
Rules and directs the vain, the weakly Mind,
And leads the wandring Thought from Maze to
Maze;
Could greater Genius's assert the Right,
The Beauty, Use, Extent, of Nature's Law,
Then might we hope the mystick Art to
find,
And joy in being Patterns to Mankind.