Impregnated with quick fermenting salts,
And potent to resist the freezing blast.
For ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf
Deciduous, and when now November dark
Checks vegetation in the torpid plant
Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. Warily therefore, and with prudent heed
He seeks a favour'd spot, that where he builds
The agglomerated pile, his frame may front The sun's meridian disk, and at the back Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe The ascending damps; then leisurely impose And lightly, shaking it with agile hand From the full fork, the saturated straw. What longest binds the closest, forms secure The shapely side, that as it rises takes By just degrees an overhanging breadth, Sheltering the base with its projected eaves. The uplifted frame compact at every joint, And overlaid with clear translucent glass, He settles next upon the sloping mount, Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls: He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. Thrice must the voluble and restless earth
Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth
Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass Diffused, attain the surface. When behold!
A pestilent and most corrosive steam,
Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast,
And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, Asks egress; which obtained, the overcharged And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank, And purified, rejoices to have lost Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage The impatient fervour which it first conceives Within its reeking bosom, threatening death To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft The way to glory by miscarriage foul 19, Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch The auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat Friendly to vital motion, may afford
Soft fermentation, and invite the seed.
The seed selected wisely, plump and smooth And glossy, he commits to pots of size Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepared
And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long, And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds. 515 These on the warm and genial earth that hides The smoking manure and o'erspreads it all, He places lightly, and as time subdues The rage of fermentation, plunges deep In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. Then rise the tender germs upstarting quick
Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well When our deep plots do fail.
Into the right we err, and must confess To oversights we often owe success.
And spreading wide their spongey lobes, at first Pale, wan, and livid, but assuming soon,
If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air
Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, Cautious he pinches from the second stalk
A pimple, that portends a future sprout,
And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish, Prolific all, and harbingers of more.
The crowded roots demand enlargement now And transplantation in an ampler space.
Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers, Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit.
These have their sexes; and when summer shines The bee transports the fertilizing meal
From flower to flower, and even the breathing air Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use.
Not so when winter scowls: assistant art Then acts in nature's office, brings to pass The glad espousals and insures the crop.
Grudge not, ye rich, (since luxury must have His dainties, and the world's more numerous half Lives by contriving delicates for you,)
Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares, The vigilance, the labour, and the skill That day and night are exercised, and hang Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, That ye may garnish your profuse regales With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart
The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam, Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies Minute as dust and numberless, oft work Dire disappointment that admits no cure, And which no care can obviate. It were long, Too long to tell the expedients and the shifts Which he that fights a season so severe Devises, while he guards his tender trust, And oft, at last, in vain. The learn'd and wise Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as its theme, and like its theme, the fruit Of too much labour, worthless when produced. Who loves a garden, loves a green-house too. Unconscious of a less propitious clime There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, While the winds whistle and the snows descend. The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf Shines there and flourishes. The golden boast Of Portugal and western India there, The ruddier orange and the paler lime, Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm, And seem to smile at what they need not fear. The amomum there with intermingling flowers And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honours, and the spangled beau Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. All plants of every leaf 20 that can endure
The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions these; the Azores send
20 Flowers of all hue. Par. Lost, iv. 256
Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraria; foreigners from many lands They form one social shade, as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass But by a master's hand, disposing well The gay diversities of leaf and flower,
Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene. Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage; And so, while Garrick as renown'd as he, The sons of Albion,-fearing each to lose Some note of Nature's music from his lips, And covetous of Shakespeare's" beauty seen In every flash of his far-beaming eye. Nor taste alone and well-contrived display Suffice to give the marshal'd ranks the grace Of their complete effect. Much yet remains Unsung, and many cares are yet behind
And more laborious; cares on which depends Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored. The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, And disappoints the roots; the slender roots Close interwoven where they meet the vase
21 While friends beheld thee give with eye, voice, mien, More than theatric force to Shakespeare's scene.
Wordsworth. On Sir G. Beaumont.
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