And lightly, shaking it with agile hand
From the full fork, the saturated straw.
What longest binds the closest forms secure
The shapely side, that as it rises takes,
By just degrees, an overhanging breadth,
Shelt'ring the base with its projected eaves:
Th' uplifted frame, compact at ev'ry joint,
And overlaid with clear translucent glass,
He settles next upon the sloping mount,
Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure
From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls.
He shuts it close, and the first labour ends.
Thrice must the voluble and restless earth
Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth,
Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass
Diffus'd, attain the surface: when, behold!

A pestilent and most corrosive steam,

Like a gross fogg Baotian, rising fast,
And fast condens'd upon the dewy sash,

Asks egress; which obtain'd, the overcharg'd

And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad, In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank; And, purified, rejoices to have lost

Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage

Th' impatient fervor which it first conceives
Within its reeking bosom, threat'ning death
To his young hopes, requires discreet delay.
Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft
The way to glory by miscarriage foul,

Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch
Th' auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat,
Friendly to vital motion, may afford

Soft fomentation, and invite the seed.

The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, And glossy, he commits to pots of size Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar'd

And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long, And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds: These on the warm and genial earth, that hides The smoking manure and o'erspreads it all,

He places lightly, and, as time subdues
The rage of fermentation, plunges deep

In the soft medium, till they stand immers’d.
Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick,
And spreading wide their spongy lobes; at first
Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon,
If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air,

Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green.
Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented leaves,
Cautious. he pinches from the second stalk
A pimple, that portends a future sprout,

And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed
The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish;
Prolific all, and harbingers of more.

The crowded roots demand enlargement now, And transplantation in an ampler space. Indulg'd in what they wish, they soon supply Large foliage, overshadowing golden flow'rs, Blown on the summit of th' apparent fruit. These have their sexes; and, when summer shines,

The bee transports the fertilizing meal

From flow'r to flow'r, and ev'n the breathing air

Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use.

Not so when winter scowls.

Assistant art

Then acts in nature's office, brings to pass
The glad espousals, and ensures the crop.

Grudge not, ye rich, (since luxury must have
His dainties, and the world's more num'rous half
Lives by, contriving delicates for you)
Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares,
The vigilance, the labour, and the skill,

That day and night are exercis'd, and hang
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,

That

ye may garnish your profuse regales With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart

The process. Heat and cold, and wind, and steam, Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming

flies,

Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work

Dire disappointment, that admits no cure,

And which no care can obviate. It were long, Too long, to tell th' expedients and the shifts Which he that fights a season so severe

Devises, while he guards his tender trust;

1

And oft, at last, in vain. The learn'd and wise Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song Cold as its theme, and, like its theme, the fruit Of too much labour, worthless when produc'd.

Who loves a garden loves a green-house too. Unconscious of a less propitious clime,

There blooms exotic beauty, warm and

snug,

While the winds whistle and the snows descend.

The spiry myrtle with unwith'ring leaf

Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast

Of Portugal and western India there,

The ruddier orange, and the paler lime,
Peep through their polish'd foliage at the storm,