Betwixt the subject, and the verse;
But he who praises, and is prais'd,
On equal eminence are rais'd:

No flatteries thence are to be fear'd,
Nor hopes encourag'd of reward.

Such is our case :-I honor thee
For something, thou for something me;
Sincerely both: our thoughts the same,
Of courtiers, fortune, and of fame;
Alike (in pity to mankind)

To peace, to heavenly peace, inclin’d.

To peace, my Friend! that thou and I,
No colors fluttering in the sky;
With frightful faces, glittering arms
(Bellona's military charms);

May undisturb'd and studious rove,
O'er every lawn, through every grove.

See various Nature, in each field,
Her flowers and fruits luxuriant yield;
While the bright God of day presides
Aloft, and all the seasons guides;
Jocund to run his annual course,
With never-tiring speed and force.

With golden hair the God of day
Wings from the east his fervid way;
The stars, applauding as he flies,
To see him stretch along the skies ;

To see him roll his fiery race

Athwart the vast aethereal space;
Unbind the frosts, dissolve the snows,
As round the radiant Belt he goes.

Mild Zephirus the Graces leads,
To revel o'er the fragrant meads;
The mountains shout, the forests ring,
While Flora decks the purple Spring:
The Hours attendant all the while
On Zephirus and Flora smile:
The vallies laugh, the rivers play,
In honor of the God of day.

The birds, that fan the liquid air, To tune their little throats prepare ; The joyous birds of every shade, For loitering, love, and music made, Their voices raise on every spray, To welcome in the God of day.

The vegetable earth beneath'

Bids all her plants his praises breathe :
Clouds of fresh fragrance upwards rise,
To cheer his progress through the skies;
And heaven, and earth, and air unite,
To celebrate his heat and light:
That light and heat which on our world
From his gay chariot-wheels are hurl'd;
And every morn do rosy rise,

To glad our dampy, darksome skies:
Which once deserted by his light
Would langush in eternal night.

Eut Gardening were of all a toil,
That on our hopes the least would smile;
Should the kind God of day forbear
T'exhale the rains, foment the air;
Or, in an angry mood, decline
With his prolific beams to shine.

Ev'n thou-though that's thy meanest praise,
Nor fruits nor flowers could'st hope to raise ;
Howe'er thou may'st in order place,
Of both, the latter, earlier race;
In glasses or in sheds confin'd,

To shield them from the wintry wind;
Or, in the Spring, with skilful care,
Range them his influence best to share ;
Did not the sun, their genial sire,
The vegetative soul inspire :

Instruct the senseless aukward root,
And teach the fibres how to shoot:
Command the taper stalk to rear
His flowering head, to grace the year;
To shed ambrosial odors round,
And, paint with choicest dyes, the ground.

Thou, next to him, art truly great; On earth his mighty delegate:

The vegetable world to guide,
And o'er all Botany preside:

To see that every dewy morn
Successive plants the earth adorn :

That flowers through every month be found,
Constant to keep their gaudy round:
That flowers, in spite of frost and snow,
Throughout our year, perpetual blow;
That trees, in spite of winds, are seen
Array'd in everlasting green.

Nor with a care beneath thy skill Dost thou that vast employment fill.

Hail, Horticulture's sapient king!
Receive the homage that we bring:
While at thy feet, with reverence low,
All Botanists and Florists bow;
Their knowledge, practice, all resign,
Short-infinitely short, of thine.

For thou'rt not satisfied to know
The plants that in three nations blow,
Their names, their seasons, native place;
Their culture, qualities, and race;
Or Europe's more extended plains;
Sylvanus', Flora's wide domains:
Whate'er in Africk, Asia, shoots
From seeds, from layers, grafts, or roots;
At both the Indies, both the Poles,

Whate'er the sea or ocean rolls;
Of the botanic, herbal kind,
Lies open to thy searching mind.

Noblest ambition of thy soul ! Which limits but in vain control. Let others, meanly satisfy'd

With partial knowledge sooth their pride: Whilst thou, with thy prodigious store, But show'st thy modesty the more.

Thou venerable Patriarch wise,
Instruct us in thy mysteries:

From thee the Gods no knowledge hide,
No knowledge have to thee deny'd:
The rural Gods of hills or plains,
Where Faunus or Favonia reigns.

Then tell us, as thou best dost know, Where perfect happiness does grow, What herbs or bodies will sustain Secure from sickness, and from pain: What plants protect us from the rage Of blighting time, or blasting age; Which shrubs, of all the flowery field, Most aromatic odors yield.

Shew us the trees by Nature spread, To form the coolest noon-tide shade ;