Thus hath the faithful muse his lore pursu'd,
Who trusting to the culture of his plough,
Refus'd the dunghill's aid. Yet listen not
To doubtful precepts, with implicit faith;
Experience to experience oft oppos'd,
Leaves truth uncertain. See what various crops,
In quick succession, crown the garden'd fields
On Thames' prolific bank. On culture's hand
Alone, do these Horticulist's rely?
Or do they owe to London's rich manure
Those products which its crowded markets fill?
Both lend their aid: and both with art improv'd,
Have spread the glory of their gardens wide,
A theme of wonder to the distant swain.
Hence the piazza'd square, where erst, embower'd
In solemn sloth, good Martin's lazy monks
Dron'd out their useless lives in pamper'd ease;
Now boasts, from industry's rough hand supply'd,
Each various esculent the teeming earth
In every changing season can produce.
Join then with culture the prolific strength
Of such manure as best inclines to aid
Thy failing glebe. Let oily marl impart
Its unctuous moisture, or the crumbling tan
Its glowing heat. Nor from the gazing herds,
Nor bristly swine obscene, disdain to heap
Their cooling ordure. Nor the warmer dungs
Of fiery pigeons, of the stabled horse,
Or folded flock, neglect. From sprinkled foot,
From ashes strew'd around, let the damp soil
Their nit'rous salts imbibe. Scour the deep ditch
From its black sediment; and from the street
Its trampled mixtures rake. Green standing pools,
Large lakes, or meadows rank, in rotted heaps
Of unripe weeds, afford a cool manure.
From ocean's verge, if not too far remov'd,
Its shelly sands convey a warm compost,
From land and wave commixt, with richness fraught:
This the sour glebe shall sweeten, and for years,
Through chilly clay, its vigorous heat shall glow.
But if nor oily marl, nor crumbling tan,
Nor dung of cattle, nor the trampled street,
Nor weed, nor ocean's sand, can lend its aid;
Then, farmer, raise immediate from their seeds
The jucy stalks of largely spreading pulse,
Beans, buck-wheat, spurry, or the climbing vetch;
These early reap'd, and bury'd in the soil,
Enrich the parent womb from whence they sprung.
Or sow the bulbous turnip; this snail yield
Sweet pasture to the flocks or lowing herds,
And well prepare thy land for future crops.
Yet not alone to raise, but to secure
Thy products from invasion, and divide
For various use th' appropriated fields,
Disdain not thus to learn. For this, the sloe,
The furze, the holly, to thy hand present
Their branches, and their different merits boast.
But from the nurs'ry then with care select
Quick hawthorn setts, well rooted, smooth, and straight:
Then low as sinks thy ditch on either side,
Let rise in height the sloping bank: there plant
Thy future fence, at intervals a foot
From each to each, in beds of richest mould.
Nor ends the labour here; but to defend
Thy infant shoots from depredation deep,
At proper distance drive stiff oaken stakes;
Which, interwove with boughs and flexile twigs,
Frustrate the nibbling flock or brouzing herd.
Thus, if from weeds, that rob them of their food,
Or choak, by covering from the vital air,
The hoe's neat culture keep the thick'ning shoots,
Soon shall they rise, and to thy field afford
A beauteous, strong, impenetrable fence.
The linnet, goldfinch, nightingale, and thrush,
Here, by security invited, build
Their little nests, and all thy labours cheer
With melody: the hand of lovely May
Here strews her sweetest blossoms; and if mix'd
With slocks of knotted crabs, ingrafted fruits,
When autumn crowns the year, shall smile around.
But from low shrubs, if thy ambition rise
To cultivate the larger tree, attend.
From seeds, or suckers, layers, or sitts, aris
Their various tribes; for now exploded stands
The vulgar fable of spontaneous birth,
To plant or animal. He, then, who, pleas'd,
In Fancy's eye beholds his future race
Rejoicing in the shades their grandfire gave;
Or he whose patriot views extend to raise,
In distant ages, Britain's naval power;
Must first prepare, inclining to the south,
A shelter'd nurs'ry; well from weeds, from shrubs,
Clear'd by the previous culture of the plough,
From cattle fenc'd, and ev'rys peeling tooth.
Then from the summit of the fairest tree,
His seed selected ripe, and sow'd in rills
On Nature's fruitful lap: the harrow's care
Indulgent covers from keen frosts that pierce,
Or vermin who devour. The wint'ry months
In embryo close the future forest lies,
And waits for germination: but in spring,
When their green heads first rise above the earth,
And ask thy softering hand; then to their roots
The light soil gently move, and strew around
Old leaves, or litter'd straw, to skreen from heat
The tender infants. Leave not to vile weeds
This friendly office; whose false kindness chokes,
Or starves the nurslings they pretend to shade.
When now four summers have beheld their youth
Attended in the nursery, then transplant,
The soil prepar'd, to where thy future grove
Is destin'd to uprear its leafy head.
Avoid the error of impatience. He
Who, eager to enjoy the cooling shade
His hands shall raise, removes at vast expence
Tall trees, with envy and regret shall see
His neighbour's infant plants soon, soon outstrip
The tardy loiterers of his dwindled copse.
But if thy emulation's gen'rous pride
Would boast the largest timber straight and strong!
Thick let the seedling in their native beds
Stand unremov'd; so shall each lat'ral branch,
Obstructed, send its nourishment to raise
The tow'ring stem: and they whose vig'rous health
Exalts above the rest their lofty heads.