Thou cherisher of nature, nay, her soul;
First bounteous parent of all earthly good;
Thy ripening influence beneath, all germs
Of vast creation burst to happy birth!
And thou, spirit of life, of rosy cheek,
Whose magic breath imparts a purer glow,
And purer health, to the enlivening tide,
That from the heart pursues its wondrous course :
Hail, humid power! whose silver tresses drop
Perpetual dews adown th' ethereal waste.
And thou, electric force! whose rapid wing
Mocks the more tardy flight of vanquish'd time
Whose strength the mountain top, resistless, rends!
These active all, o'er sluggish matter rule,
In all extended space, in fluids sport,
Live in all life, and in all motion move.
• With custom'd rites, deriv'd from ancient Rome,
The joyful village hail the new-born month:
The peep of dawn calls rustic lovers forth
To brush the early dew from the full
And pluck the milk-white thorn, fragrant of May,
And starr'd with glittering drops. Fresh garlands breathe
Their mingled sweets, and glow with varied pride;
While round the pole at eve the rural throng
Weave the light buxom dance, or boisterous sport,
While artificial splendour gilds the bush,
And night grows glad with unaccustomed smiles.'
If the blank-verse of Dr. B. rarely soars to sublimity, it is in general flowing, and is thickly strewed with instructive hints on the subject of natural history. An enumeration of the different habits of birds in building their nests occurs at p. 52. et seq. We insert the account of the land-birds.
A thousand bills are busy now; the skies
Are winnow'd by a thousand fluttering wings,
While all the feathered race their annual rites
Ardent begin, and chuse where best to build
With more than human skill; some cautious seek
Sequester'd spots, while some more confident
Scarce ask a covert. Wiser these, elude
The foes that prey upon their several kinds;
Those to the hedge repair with velvet down
Of budding sallows, beautifully white.
The cavern-loving wren sequestered seeks
The verdant shelter of the hollow stump,
And with congenial moss, harmless deceit,
Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughs
The glossy raven,' and the hoarse-voic'd crow,
Rocked by the storm, erect their airy nests.
REV. MAY, 1814.
The ousel, lone frequenter of the grove
Of fragrant pines, in solemn depth of shade
Finds rest; or 'mid the holly's shining leaves,
A simple bush the piping thrush contents,
Though in the woodland concert he aloft
Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain,
And scorns the humbler choir. The lark too askı
A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf,
Or hollow trodden by the sinking hoof;
Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays
Pours forth, as earth ne'er owns. Within the hedge
The sparrow lays her sky-stain'd eggs. The barn,
With eaves o'er pendant holds the chattering tribe:
Secret the linnet seeks the tangled copse:
Where some tall beetling rock, midway in air
Lifts his bold brow, the sailing kite; the hawk,
In spotted terrors drest, and pallid face,
And eye death-glaring, rear their savage brood:
Bleak on the pinnacle of mountains rough,
And cloud-embrac'd, the towering eagle plans
Dismay; or 'mid Northumbria's shining lakes,
Or Snowdon's crags, or Orkney's distant isles;
Thus rais'd to fatal eminence and dread,
Some tyrant dooms the nations for his prey,
And pleas'd with ruin desolates the earth:
The white owl seeks some antique ruin’d wall,
Fearless of rapine; or in hollow trees
Which age has caverned, safely courts repose :
The thievish pye in two-fold colours clad,
Roofs o'er her curious nest with firm-wreath'd twigs,
And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads
The talon'd kite, or pouncing hawk; savage
Herself; with craft, suspicion ever dwells."
After a general description of the spring-month of April, a short invocation to Light is introduced: but, though it begins like that of Milton, it is not throughout Miltonic:
Hail, holy Light! image of truth divine!
Whose glorious rays invest the throne of God!
Hail, fruitful joy of all created things!
Cloth'd in thy radiant robe, this rolling orb
Exults, that were without thy cheering smile
A dreary blank, a dull and sullen waste.
Bright as celestial love, and still as warm,
Thy gracious beam diffuses joy on all
That breathes the vital air, on all that spreads
In vegetating beauty; and on all
That fertilizing flows; on all that teems
With plenty, and on all that germs with life."
So minute is Dr. B. in his account of the Mowers which blow in every month, that his pages will appear almost to form a Gardener's Calendar. Indeed, his merit consists here more in the accuracy of his report than in the charms of his verse; and the florist will feel himself more obliged than the man of refined taste:
To gardens trim the noon-tide now invites ;
And cheering warmth, and bowers, and alleys green;
And spruce auricula, the Florist's pride,
In mealy order rang'd. Loquacious he
Each name recounts in lengthened tale, and boasts
Of beauties rare, alone by him possess'd;
The jonquil loads with potent breath the air,
And rich in golden glory nods; there too,
Child of the wind, anemoné delights,
Or in its scarlet robe or various dies,
Ranunculus, reflecting every ray;
The polyanthus, and with pendent head
The crown imperial, ever bent on earth,
Favoring her secret rites and pearly sweets.
Here grateful labour chides reluctant sloth,
Here leisure tastes the first man's quiet bliss;
While the rapt sage a level walk may meet;
Or seated here, th' historic page retrace,
Or philosophic meditation muse.
See, every teeming branch empurpled swells
In verdant hope. The reddening wall distends
With crimson birth. The peach, the nectarine blush,
All neatly spread. The pear-tree nods, one mass
Of vernal white, and with the cherry vies. —
Warm'd by the genial,force of ardent spring,
All burst to life. No longer torpid, mounts
The vegetable juice. The petals ope,
Though on the little loves that sport within
Their silken folds, the rough and envious blasts
Too oft, relentless frown; while April mourns
Her modest cheek impress'd by the rude kiss
Of savage winds, and all her charms deform'd;
The ever-veering gales inconstant change;
And waft the chill sleet o'er the frigid sky.'
Flora's uncultivated offspring, 'scattered over Danmonian
wilds, are also duly sung, and Pomona's gifts are not forgotten.
When the warmth of summer brings forth the insect-tribes,
these also buzz and display their painted wings in verse.
short, if Dr. B. could not boast of being a first favorite with the
Muses, he might pride himself on having been an attentive ob-
server, and, for the most part, a faithful delineator of Nature. He
should indeed have contrived, as Thomson has done, to relieve the
monotony of rural descriptions, repeated month after month, by
some amusing episodes. If, however, we have no affecting tales, we find many useful moral admonitions; and the whole concludes with the following reflections:
• ON THE LAST Day of the Year.
• The various year is closed, and every scene,
Now vanished, floats in memory's dreams alone.
Mere unsubstantial forms! shadows of shade!
Where are the circling months? the joyous days?
The rapturous hours? the golden moments, where!
All fled! and flied to bloom, alas, no more!
To-morrow's dawn shall light another train
Of airy glories on their fleeting way:
This the last night. Last night! ah, awful sound!
Dread awful word;-the last. Like death it chills,
And palsies every tongue that sounds its name.
Sad sound! how sad to him, whose trembling hand
Counts the slow lingering pulse of dying friend,
Or sees light setting in a parent's eye!
How sad to her, who with distracting kiss
Catches the parting sigh, ere yet it quit
A suffering infant's darling form, the flower,
The opening flower of pure and hallowed love!
How sad to him, who takes a final leave
Upon the bed of death, of her, whom late
He clasped with ardent hope, a blooming bride!
And oh! heart-rending sound, the last, last year
When lovers part, each still to leave behind
The better half of severed souls, while far
The convex world's immeasurable seas
And high ridg'd mountains, each fond wish divide;
And oh! how dreadful sounds the sad last hour
Of fleeting breath to him, who in the womb
Of prison darkness, long condemned to die,
Hears the hoarse bell, with awful summons, call
His fainting soul to vast eternity!
But far more awful is that dreadful day,
The last, last day of judgment; when the race
Of trembling mortals all shall stand before
The throne of justice and avenging power,
And peopled graves shall pour their countless throngs,
Countless as atoms, to the dreadful test,—
And seas their dead, as numerous as their sands.’
The volume is dedicated to Dr. Hughes, Canon Residentiary of St. Paul's: but, as each book is distinctly inscribed to some particular friend, it is difficult to ascertain what portion of the work is included in the dedication to Dr. Hughes. Nothing is left for him besides the title-page, and a few notes ad calcem.
ART. X. The Planter's Kalendar; or the Nurseryman's and Forester's Guide, in the Operations of the Nursery, the Forest, and the Grove. By the late Walter Nicol, Author of the Gar dener's Kalendar, &c. Edited and completed by Edward Sang, Nurseryman, at Kirkcaldy. 8vo. pp. 600. 15s. Boards. Constable, Edinburgh; Longman and Co., London.
an island like Great Britain, of which the protection and prosperity must depend on the extent of its marine, the growth of timber is a prime consideration, and ought to be regarded as a very important branch of agriculture. It should not, therefore, be taken for granted, as it seems to be at present, that all our wastes should be appropriated to the formation of corn-fields and meadows. Experience has taught us that the system of inclosing has added in no sensible degree to our quantity of bread-corn, and the public have not benefited, as they expected, from the greediness of appropriation: since the means of improving waste-lands are not increased by the mere inclosure of them; and the farmer, who has only a certain quantity of manure at command, obtains as much grain from a hundred acres kept in good heart, as from double the quantity that is only half cultivated. It is beyond a doubt that large portions of many wastes, which have been turned up with the plough, and sown,would have been more judiciously treated if they had been dibbled with acorns; and, had the necessities of the empire been duly regarded, every bill for inclosing wastelands of a certain extent should have contained a clause for the appropriation of a given number of acres to forest-plantation.
Mr. Sang, the editor, or more properly the author of this work, for he appears to have re-written the whole, very justly remarks in the introduction that the great attention paid to agricultural improvements has likewise proved very favourable to the increase of planting; it having been clearly perceived, that, by subdividing extended tracts of country, by means of screen-plantations, (generally denominated stripes or belts,) and by trees in masses of various shapes and dimensions, the interests of husbandry must be very much promoted by the protection thus afforded to the corn-lands; and when the rearing of stock became a matter of the utmost importance, the sheltering of their pastures could not be overlooked.'
By this view of the subject, it is proved that, in certain bleak situations, the interest of the agriculturist requires him to plant; and we would also invite his attention to the fact that he often mistakes this interest when he grubs up coppices and wood-lands for the purpose of making them arable. The late Lord Melville, in his letter to Mr. Percival, (a long extract from which is given by Mr.Sang,) mentions two points of prime consideration:
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