Part 6 (1/2)

That tells the waters or to rise or fall; Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods and varies shades from shades; Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

Still follow sense, of every art the soul; Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, Spontaneous beauties all around advance, Start e'en from difficulty, strike from chance; Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow A work to wonder at--perhaps a STOWE.[017]

Without it proud Versailles![018] Thy glory falls; And Nero's terraces desert their walls.

The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make, Lo! Cobham comes and floats them with a lake; Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain, You'll wish your hill or sheltered seat again.

Pope is in most instances singularly happy in his compliments, but the allusion to STOWE--as ”_a work to wonder at_”--has rather an equivocal appearance, and so also has the mention of Lord Cobham, the proprietor of the place. In the first draught of the poem, the name of Bridgeman was inserted where Cobham's now stands, but as Bridgeman mistook the compliment for a sneer, the poet thought the landscape-gardener had proved himself undeserving of the intended honor, and presented the second-hand compliment to the peer. The grounds at Stowe, more praised by poets than any other private estate in England, extend to 400 acres.

There are many other fine estates in our country of far greater extent, but of less celebrity. Some of them are much too extensive, perhaps, for true enjoyment. The Earl of Leicester, when he had completed his seat at Holkham, observed, that ”It was a melancholy thing to stand alone in one's country. I look round; not a house is to be seen but mine. I am the Giant of Giant-castle and have ate up all my neighbours.” The Earl must have felt that the political economy of Goldsmith in his _Deserted Village_ was not wholly the work of imagination.

Sweet smiling village! Loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen And desolation saddens all the green,-- _One only master grasps thy whole domain_.

Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, To scape the pressure of contiguous pride?

”Hearty, cheerful Mr. Cotton,” as Lamb calls him, describes Stowe as a Paradise.

ON LORD COBHAM'S GARDEN.

It puzzles much the sage's brains Where Eden stood of yore, Some place it in Arabia's plains, Some say it is no more.

But Cobham can these tales confute, As all the curious know; For he hath proved beyond dispute, That Paradise is STOWE.

Thomson also calls the place a paradise:

Ye Powers That o'er the garden and the rural seat Preside, which s.h.i.+ning through the cheerful land In countless numbers blest Britannia sees; O, lead me to the wide-extended walks, _The fair majestic paradise of Stowe!_ Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's sh.o.r.e E'er saw such sylvan scenes; such various art By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed By cool judicious art, that in the strife All-beauteous Nature fears to be out-done.

The poet somewhat mars the effect of this compliment to the charms of Stowe, by making it a matter of regret that the owner

His verdant files Of ordered trees should here inglorious range, Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field, And long embattled hosts.

This representation of rural pursuits as inglorious, a sentiment so out of keeping with his subject, is soon after followed rather inconsistently, by a sort of paraphrase of Virgil's celebrated picture of rural felicity, and some of Thomson's own thoughts on the advantages of a retreat from active life.

Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he! Who far from public rage Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life, &c.

Then again:--

Let others brave the flood in quest of gain And beat for joyless months, the gloomy wave.

_Let such as deem it glory to destroy, Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek; Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, The virgin's shriek and infant's trembling cry._

While he, from all the stormy pa.s.sions free That restless men involve, hears and _but_ hears, At distance safe, the human tempest roar, Wrapt close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, The rage of nations, and the crush of states, Move not the man, who from the world escaped, In still retreats and flowery solitudes, To nature's voice attends, from month to month, And day to day, through the revolving year; Admiring sees her in her every shape; Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart; Takes what she liberal gives, nor asks for more.

He, when young Spring, protudes the bursting gems Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale Into his freshened soul; her genial hour He full enjoys, and not a beauty blows And not an opening blossom breathes in vain.

Thomson in his description of Lord Townshend's seat of Rainham--another English estate once much celebrated and still much admired--exclaims:

Such are thy beauties, Rainham, such the haunts Of angels, in primeval guiltless days When man, imparadised, conversed with G.o.d.

And Broome after quoting the whole description in his dedication of his own poems to Lord Townshend, observes, in the old fas.h.i.+oned fulsome strain, ”This, my lord, is but a faint picture of the place of your retirement which no one ever enjoyed more elegantly.”[019] ”A faint picture!” What more would the dedicator have wished Thomson to say?

Broome, if not contented with his patron's seat being described as an earthly Paradise, must have desired it to be compared with Heaven itself, and thus have left his Lords.h.i.+p no hope of the enjoyment of a better place than he already possessed.

Samuel Boyse, who when without a s.h.i.+rt to his back sat up in his bed to write verses, with his arms through two holes in his blanket, and when he went into the streets wore paper collars to conceal the sad deficiency of linen, has a poem of considerable length ent.i.tled _The Triumphs of Nature_. It is wholly devoted to a description of this magnificent garden,[020] in which, amongst other architectural ornaments, was a temple dedicated to British worthies, where the busts of Pope and Congreve held conspicuous places. I may as well give a specimen of the lines of poor Boyse. Here is his description of that part of Lord Cobham's grounds in which is erected to the G.o.ddess of Love, a Temple containing a statue of the Venus de Medicis.