VIRGIL'S GARDEN 25 



I would enlarge on that peculiar care 



Which makes the Garden bloom, the Orchard bear, 



Pampers the Melon into girth, and blows 



Twice to one summer the Calabrian Rose : 



Nor many a shrub with flower and berries hung, 



Nor Myrtle of the seashore leave unsung. 



" For where the Tower of old Tarentum stands, 

 And dark Galesus soaks the yellow sands," * 

 I mind me of an old Corycian swain, 

 Who from a plot of disregarded plain, 

 That neither Corn, nor Vine, nor Olive grew, 

 Yet such a store of garden-produce drew 

 That made him rich in heart as Kings with all 

 Their wealth, when he returned at even-fall, 

 And from the conquest of the barren ground 

 His table with unpurchased plenty crown'd. 

 For him the Rose first open'd ; his, somehow, 

 The first ripe Apple redden'd on the bough ; 

 Nay, even when melancholy Winter still 

 Congeal' d the glebe, and check'd the wandering rill, 

 The sturdy veteran might abroad be seen, 

 With some first slip of unexpected green, 

 Upbraiding Nature with her tardy Spring, 

 And those south winds so late upon the wing. 

 He sow'd the seed ; and, under Sun and Shower, 

 Up came the Leaf, and after it the Flower, 

 From which no busier bees than his derived 

 More, or more honey for their Master hived : 

 Under his skilful hand no savage root 

 But sure to thrive with its adopted shoot ; 

 1 Dryden. 



