IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



A happy rural seat of various view! 



Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and 



balm; 



Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, 

 Hung amiable Hesperian fables true, 

 If true, here only and of delicious taste. 

 Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks 

 Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, 

 Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap 

 Of some irriguous valley spread her store, 

 Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. 

 Another side, umbrageous grots and caves 

 Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine 

 Lays forth her purple grape, and gently weeps 

 Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall 

 Down the slope hills dispersed, or in a lake, 

 That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned 

 Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. 

 The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, 

 Breathing the smell of field and grave, attune 

 The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, 

 Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, 

 Led on the eternal Spring. 



JOHN MILTON. 

 Paradise Lost (Bk. IV). 



[190] 



