HAIL to the Art, that teaches Wealth and Pride
How to possess their wish, the world's applause,
Unmixt with blame! that bids Magnificence
Abate its meteor glare, and learn to shine
Benevolently mild; like her, the Queen
Of Night, who sailing through autumnal skies,
Gives to the bearded product of the plain
Her ripening lustre, lingering as she rolls,
And glancing cool the salutary ray
Which fills the fields with plenty.* Hail, that Art 10
Ye swains! for, hark! with lowings glad, your herds
Proclaim its influence, wandering o'er the lawns
Restor❜d to them and Nature; now no more
Shall Fortune's minion rob them of their right,
Or round his dull domain with lofty wall
Oppose their jocund presence. Gothic Pomp
Frowns and retires, his proud behests are scorn'd:
Now Taste, inspir'd by Truth, exalts her voice,
And she is heard. "Oh, let not man misdeem;
* Ver. 10, Note XII.
"Waste is not Grandeur, Fashion ill supplies
My sacred place, and Beauty scorns to dwell
"Where Use is exiled." At the awful sound
The terrace sinks spontaneous; on the green,
Broider'd with crisped knots, the tonsile yews
Wither and fall; the fountain dares no more
To fling its wasted crystal through the sky,
But pours salubrious o'er the parched lawn
Rills of fertility. Oh best of Arts
That works this happy change! true alchymy,
Beyond the Rosicrusian boast, that turns
Deformity to grace, expense to gain,
And pleas'd restores to Earth's maternal lap
In Nature's cause, that Albion's listening youths,
Inform'd erewhile to scorn the long-drawn lines
Of straight formality, alike may scorn
Those quick, acute, perplex'd, and tangled paths,
That, like the snake crush'd by the sharpen'd spade,
Writhe in convulsive torture, and full oft,
Through many a dark and unsunn'd labyrinth,
Mislead our step; till giddy, spent, and foiled,
We reach the point where first our race began.
These Fancy priz'd erroneous, what time Taste,
An infant yet, first join'd her to destroy
The measur'd platform; into false extremes
What marvel if they stray'd, as yet unskill'd
To mark the form of that peculiar curve,
Alike averse to crooked and to straight,
Where sweet Simplicity resides; which Grace
And Beauty call their own; whose lambent flow
Charms us at once with symmetry and ease.
'Tis Nature's curve, instinctively she bids
Her tribes of Being trace it. Down the slope
Of yon wide field, see, with its gradual sweep
The ploughing steers their fallow ridges swell;
The peasant, driving through each shadowy lane
His team, that bends beneath th' incumbent weight
Of laughing CERES, marks it with his wheel;
At night, and morn, the milkmaid's careless step
Has, through yon pasture green, from stile to stile,
Imprest a kindred curve; the scudding hare
Draws to her drew-sprent seat, o'er thymy heaths,
A path as gently waving: mark them well;
Compare, pronounce, that, varying but in size,
Their forms are kindred all; go then, convinc'd
That Art's unerring rule is only drawn
From Nature's sacred source; a rule that guides
Her ev'ry toil; or, if she shape the path,
Or scoop the lawn, or gradual, lift the hill.
For not alone to that embellish'd walk,
Which leads to ev'ry beauty of the scene,
It yields a grace, but spreads its influence wide,
Prescribes each form of thicket, copse, or wood,
Confines the rivulet, and spreads the lake.
Yet shall this graceful line forget to please,
If border'd close by sidelong parallels,
Nor duly mixt with those opposing curves
That give the charm of contrast. Vainly Taste
Draws through the grove her path in easiest bend,
If, on the margin of its woody sides,
The measur'd greensward waves in kindred flow:
Oft let the turf recede, and oft approach,
With varied breadth, now sink into the shade,
Now to the sun its verdant bosom bare.
As vainly wilt thou lift the gradual hill
To meet thy right-hand view, if to the left
An equal hill ascends: in this, and all
Be various, wild, and free as Nature's self.
For in her wildness is there oft an art,
Or seeming art, which, by position apt,
Arranges shapes unequal, so to save
That correspondent poise, which unpreserv'd
Would mock our gaze with airy vacancy.
Yet fair variety, with all her powers,
Assists the balance: 'gainst the barren crag
She lifts the pastur'd slope; to distant hills
Opposes neighb'ring shades; and, central oft,
Relieves the flatness of the lawn, or lake,
With studded tuft, or island. So to poise
Her objects, mimic Art may oft attain:
She rules the foreground; she can swell or sink
Its surface; here her leafy screen oppose,
And there withdraw; here part the varying greens,
And there in one promiscuous gloom combine
As best befits the Genius of the scene.
Him then, that sov'reign Genius, Monarch sole 110
Who, from creation's primal day, derives
His right divine to this his rural throne,
Approach with meet obeisance; at his feet
Let our aw'd art fall prostrate. They of Ind,
The Tartar tyrants, Tamerlane's proud race,
Or they in Persia thron'd, who shake the rod
Of power o'er myriads of enervate slaves,
Expect not humbler homage to their pride
Than does this sylvan Despot.* Yet to those
Who do him loyal service, who revere
His dignity, nor aim, with rebel arms,
|