Surely that maid deserves a monarch's love,
Who bears such rich resources in herself

For her sweet progeny. A mother taught
Entails a blessing on her infant charge

Better than riches; an unfailing cruse

She leaves behind her, which the faster flows The more 'tis drawn; where ev'ry soul may feed, And nought diminish of the public stock.

Show me a maid so fair in all your ranks, Ye crowded boarding-schools. Are ye not apt To taint the infant mind, to point the way To fashionable folly, strew with flow'rs The path of vice, and teach the wayward child Extravagance and pride? Who learns in you To be the prudent wife, or pious mother? To be her parents' staff, or husband's joy? dissolve the links that once held fast

"Tis you

Domestic happiness. "Tis you untie

The matrimonial knot. "Tis you divide

The parent and his child. Yes, 'tis to you

We owe the ruin of our dearest bliss.

The best instructress for the growing lass

Is she that bare her.

Let her first be taught,

And we shall see the

path of virtue smooth

With often treading. She can best dispense
That frequent medicine the soul requires,
And make it grateful to the tongue of youth,
By mixture of affection. She can charm
When others fail, and leave the work undone.
She will not faint, for she instructs her own.
She will not torture, for she feels herself.
So education thrives, and the sweet maid
Improves in beauty, like the shapeless rock
Under the sculptor's chisel, till at length
She undertakes her progress through the world,
A woman fair and good, as child for parent,
Parent for child, or man for wife, could wish.
Say, man, what more delights thee than the fair?
What should we not be patient to endure,

If they command? We rule the noisy world,
But they rule us. Then teach them how to guide,
And hold the rein with judgment. Their applause
May once again restore the quiet reign

Of virtue, love, and peace, and yet bring back The blush of folly, and the shame of vice.

My lecture ceases-Once again observe
Alcanor in his garden; not alone,

For Isabel is there. The day declines,
And now the falling sun offends them not.
She rears the fainting flow'r, and feeds its root.
Ye botanists, I cannot talk like you,

And give to ev'ry plant its name and rank,
Taught by Linné; yet I perceive in all
Or known or unknown, in the garden rais'd,
Or nurtur❜d in the hedge-row or the field,
A secret something which delights my eye,
And meliorates my heart. And much I love
To see the fair one bind the straggling pink,
Cheer the sweet rose, the lupin, and the stock,
And lend a staff to the still gadding pea.

I cannot count the number of the stars,

Nor call them by their names, much less relate What vegetable tribes Alcanor loves,

The fair ones rear. I will not swell my song,

Like you, ye bards of Epopoïan fame,
With the proud list of forces led from Greece,
Or angels tumbled headlong into hell.
Yet let me praise the garden-loving maid,
Who innocently thus concludes the day.
Ye fair, it well becomes you. Better thus
Cheat time away, than at the crowded rout,
Rustling in silk, in a small room close pent,
And heated e'en to fusion; made to breathe
Fetid, contagious air, and fret at whist,
Or sit aside to sneer and whisper scandal.

In such a silent, cool, and wholesome hour, The Author of the world from heaven came To walk in Paradise, well pleased to mark The harmless deeds of new-created man. And sure the silent, cool, and wholesome hour May still delight him, our atonement made. Who knows but as we walk he walks unseen, And sees and well approves the cheerful task The fair one loves. He breathes upon the pink, And gives it odour; touches the sweet rose,

And makes it glow; beckons the evening dew,
And sheds it on the lupin and the pea:
Then smiles on her, and beautifies her cheek
With gay good-humour, happiness, and health.
So all are passing sweet, and the young Eve
Feels all her pains rewarded, all her joys
Perfect and unimpaired. But who can love,
Of heav'nly temper, to frequent your walks,
Ye fashion-loving belles? The human soul
Your pestilent amusement hates; how then
Shall he approve, who cannot look on guilt?

So day by day Alcanor and the fair Attend the garden studious, soon as eve Her cooling odours sheds, and the large sun Grows dim, and shoots his mellow rays oblique.

Nor these the only pleasures summer yields. They often wander at the close of day Along the shady lane, or through the wood, To pluck the ruddy strawberry, or smell

The perfum❜d breeze that all the fragrance steals