High on a mound th' exalted gardens stand, Might blend the general's with the gardener's part; Of rampart, bastion, fosse, and palisade; Might plant the mortar with wide threat'ning bore, Or bid the mimic cannon seem to roar. Now climb the steep, drop now your eye below Where round the blooming village orchards grow; There, like a picture, lies my lowly seat, A rural, shelter'd, unobserved retreat. Me far above the rest Selbornian scenes, The pendent forests, and the mountain greens, Strike with delight; there spreads the distant view, That gradual fades till sunk in misty blue : Here Nature hangs her slopy woods to sight, Rills purl between and dart a quivering light. SELBORNE HANGER. A WINTER PIECE. TO THE MISS B** THE bard, who sang so late in blithest strain Amidst this savage landscape, bleak and bare, Is this the scene that late with rapture rang, Return, blithe maidens; with you bring along Each nameless grace, and ev'ry power to please. ON THE RAINBOW. Look upon the Rainbow, and praise him that made it: very beautiful is it in the brightness thereof.-Eccles. xliii. 11. ON morning or on evening cloud impress'd, With a resplendent verge: "Thou mad'st the cloud And by that covenant graciously hast sworn Genesis, ix. 12—17. Never to drown the world again : * henceforth, Succeed."— Heav'n-taught, so sang the Hebrew bard.† A HARVEST SCENE. WAKED by the gentle gleamings of the morn All day they ply their task; with mutual chat, But when high noon invites to short repast, ON THE DARK, STILL, DRY, WARM WEATHER, TH' imprison'd winds slumber within their caves, All Nature nodding seems composed: thick steams, From land, from flood up-drawn, dimming the day, "Like a dark ceiling stand:" slow through the air Gossamer floats, or stretch'd from blade to blade, The wavy network whitens all the field. Push'd by the weightier atmosphere, up springs The ponderous mercury, from scale to scale Mounting, amidst the Torricellian tube.* While high in air, and poised upon his wings, Unseen, the soft, enamour'd wood-lark runs Through all his maze of melody; the brake, Loud with the blackbird's bolder note, resounds. Sooth'd by the genial warmth, the cawing rook Anticipates the spring, selects her mate, Haunts her tall nest-trees, and with sedulous care The ploughman inly smiles to see upturn The happy schoolboy brings transported forth Not so the museful sage: abroad he walks What cause controls the tempest's rage, or whence, Amidst the savage season, Winter smiles. For days, for weeks, prevails the placid calm. At length some drops prelude a change: the sun, With ray refracted, bursts the parting gloom, When all the chequer'd sky is one bright glare. Mutters the wind at eve; th' horizon round With angry aspect scowls: down rush the showers, And float the deluged paths, and miry fields. *The barometer. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SELBORNE. LETTER I. TO THOMAS PENNANT, ESQ. THE parish of Selborne lies in the extreme eastern corner of the county of Hampshire, bordering on the county of Sussex, and not far from the county of Surrey; is about fifty miles south-west of London, in latitude 51, and near midway between the towns of Alton and Petersfield. Being very large and extensive, it abuts on twelve parishes, two of which are in Sussex, viz. Trotton and Rogate. If you begin from the south, and proceed westward, the adjacent parishes are Emshot, Newton, Valence, Faringdon, Harteley, Mauduit, Great Ward-le-ham, Kingsley, Hedleigh, Bramshot, Trotton, Rogate, Lysse, and Greatham. The soils of this district are almost as various and diversified as the views and aspects. The high part to the south-west consists of a vast hill of chalk, rising three hundred feet above the village; and is divided into a sheep down, the high wood, and a long hanging wood called the Hanger. The covert of this eminence is altogether beech, the most lovely of all forest trees, whether we consider its smooth rind, or bark, its glossy foliage, or graceful pendulous boughs.* The down, or sheep-walk, is a While the beech is admitted to be one of the most beautiful trees of the forest, must yield in grandeur, dignity, and picturesque beauty, to the oak, which, in these respects, stands pre-eminent in the British sylva: like the lion amongst animals, it is the unquestionable king of the forest. Beauty of a sublime kind, united with strength, is characteristic of the oak.-ÉD. A |