yet, divine SIMPLICITY, withdraw
That aid auspicious, which, in Art's domain,
Already has reform'd whate'er prevail'd
Of foreign, or of false; has led the curve
That Nature loves through all her sylvan haunts;
Has stol'n the fence unnotic'd that arrests
Her vagrant herds; giv'n lustre to her lawns,
Gloom to her groves, and, in expanse serene,
Devolv'd that wat'ry mirror at her foot,
O'er which she loves to bend and view her charms.
And tell me thou, whoe'er hast new-arrang'd
By her chaste rules thy garden, if thy heart
Feels not the warm, the self-dilating glow
Of true benevolence. Thy flocks, thy herds,
That browse luxurious o'er those very plots
Which once were barren, bless thee for the change;
The birds of air (which thy funereal yews
Of shape uncouth, and leaden sons of earth,
Antæus and Enceladus, with clubs
Uplifted, long had frighted from the scene)
Now pleas'd return, they perch on ev'ry spray,
And swell their little throats, and warble wild
Their vernal minstrelsy; to heav'n and thee
It is a hymn of thanks: do thou, like heav'n,
With tutelary care reward their song.
Erewhile the Muse, industrious to combine Nature's own charms, with these alone adorn'd The genius of the scene; but other gifts
She has in store, which gladly now she brings,
And he shall proudly wear. Know, when she broke 30
The spells of Fashion, from the crumbling wreck
Of her enchantments sagely did she cull
Those reliques rich of old Vitruvian skill,
With what the sculptor's hand in classic days
Made breathe in brass or marble; these the hag
Had purloin'd, and dispos'd in Folly's fane;
To him these trophies of her victory
She bears; and where his awful nod ordains
Conspicuous means to place. He shall direct
Her dubious judgment, from the various hoard
Of ornamental treasures, how to choose
The simplest and the best; on these his seal
Shall stamp great Nature's image and his own,
To charm for unborn ages.-Fling the rest
Back to the beldame, bid her whirl them all
In her vain vortex, lift them now to day,
Now plunge in night, as, through the humid rack
Of April cloud, swift flits the trembling beam.
But precepts tire, and this fastidious age
Rejects the strain didactic: try we then
In livelier narrative the truths to veil
We dare not dictate. Sons of Albion, hear!
The tale I tell is full of strange event,
And piteous circumstance; yet deem not ye,
If names I feign, that therefore facts are feign'd:
Nor hence refuse (what most augments the charm
Of storied woe) that fond credulity
Which binds th' attentive soul in closer chains.
At manhood's prime ALCANDER's duteous tear
Fell on his father's grave. The fair domain,
Which then became his ample heritage,
That father had reform'd; each line destroy'd
Which Belgic dulness plann'd; and Nature's self
Restor❜d to all the rights she wish'd to claim.
Crowning a gradual hill his mansion rose
In antient English grandeur: Turrets, spires,
And windows, climbing high from base to roof
In wide and radiant rows, bespoke its birth
Coeval with those rich cathedral fanes,
(Gothic ill-nam'd) where harmony results
From disunited parts; and shapes minute,
At once distinct and blended, boldly form
One vast majestic whole. No modern art
Had marr'd with misplac'd symmetry the pile.
ALCANDER held it sacred: On a height,
Which westering to its site the front survey'd,
He first his taste employ'd: for there a line
Of thinly scatter'd beech too tamely broke
The blank horizon. "Draw we round yon knowl,"
ALCANDER cry'd, " in stately Norman mode,
“A wall embattled; and within its guard
"Let every structure needful for a farm
"Arise in Castle-semblance; the huge barn
"Shall with a mock portcullis arm the gate,
"Where Ceres entering, o'er the flail-proof floor
"In golden triumph rides; some tower rotund
"Shall to the pigeons and their callow young
"Safe roost afford; and ev'ry buttress broad,
"Whose proud projection seems a mass of stone,
"Give space to stall the heifer, and the steed.
"So shall each part, though turn'd to rural use,
"Deceive the eye with those bold feudal forms
"That Fancy loves to gaze on."
This achiev'd,
Now nearer home he calls returning Art
To hide the structure rude where Winter pounds
In conic pit his congelations hoar,
That Summer may his tepid beverage cool
With the chill luxury; his dairy too
There stands of form unsightly: both to veil,
He builds of old disjointed moss-grown stone
A time-struck abbey.* An impending grove
Screens it behind with reverential shade;
While bright in front the stream reflecting spreads,
Which winds a mimic river o'er his lawn.
The fane conventual there is dimly seen,
The mitred window, and the cloister pale,
With many a mouldering column; ivy`soon
Round the rude chinks her net of foliage spreads;
Its verdant meshes seem to prop the wall.
One native glory, more than all sublime,
ALCANDER'S Scene possest: 'twas Ocean's self-
He, boist❜rous king, against the eastern cliffs
Dash'd his white foam; a verdant vale between
Gave splendid ingress to his world of waves.
Slanting this vale the mound of that clear stream
Lay hid in shade, which slowly lav'd his lawn :
But there set free, the rill resum'd its pace,
And hurried to the main. The dell it past
Was rocky and retir'd: here art with ease.
Might lead it o'er a grot, and filter'd there,
Teach it to sparkle down its craggy sides,
And fall and tinkle on its pebbled floor.
Here then that grot he builds, and conchs with spars,
Moss petrified with branching corallines
In mingled mode arranges: all found here
* Ver. 101, Note XXVII.
|