THE ENGLISH GARDEN. 9 



Of Power, his little eve of lonely life 



May here fleal on, blefl with the heartfelt calm 



That competence and liberty infpire. 135 



Nor are the plants which England calls her own 

 Few, or unlovely, that, with laurel join'd, 

 And kindred foliage of perennial green, 

 Will form a clofe-knit curtain. Shrubs there are 

 Of bolder growth, that, at the Spring's firft call, 140 



Burft forth in bloflbm'd fragrance. Lilacs rob'd 

 In fnow- white innocence, or purple pride, 

 The fweet Syringa yielding but in fcent 

 To the rich Orange, or the woodbine wild 

 That loves to hang, on barren boughs remote 145 



Her wreaths of flowery perfume. Thefe befide 

 Myriads, that here the Mufe neglects to name, 

 Will add a vernal luflre to thy veil. 



And what if chance collects the varied tribes, ' 

 Yet fear not thou but unexpected charms 150 



B Will 



