74 THE GARDEN 



This may our judgment in the search direct ; 

 God the first garden made, and the first city, Cain. 



O blessed shades ! O gentle cool retreat 



From all th' immoderate heat, 

 In which the frantic world does burn and sweat ! 

 This does the lion-star, ambition's rage ; 

 This avarice, the dog-star's thirst assuage ; 

 Everywhere else their fatal power we see, 

 They make and rule man's wretched destiny : 



They neither set, nor disappear, 



But tyrannize o'er all the year ; 

 Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence here. 



The birds that dance from bough to bough, 



And sing above in every tree, 



Are not from fears and cares more free, 

 Than we, who lie, or sit or walk below, 



And should by right be singers too. 

 What princes choir of music can excel 



That, which within this shade does dwell ? 



To which we nothing pay or give ; 



They, like all other poets live, 





