THE LAKE; OR, MODERN IMPROVEMENT IN LANDSCAPE. GRAND, ancient, gothic, mark this ample dome, The owner shrugs his shoulders, and deplores To shock his lordship's gaze, and blot the plain; shine; "But, yet," he cries, "by Fashion's aid divine, "Rescued from sylvan shrouds, my scenes may "Resistless goddess, to thy votary come, "And chace the horrors of this leafy gloom!" She comes!-the gaudy despot stands confest, Scorning their power, and reckless of expense, The foe of beauty, and the bane of sense; Close by my lord, and with strange projects warm, Stalks o'er the scenes her edicts shall deform. "Yon broad, brown wood, now darkening to the “ sky, "Shall prostrate soon with perish'd branches lie; "Yield golden treasures for our great design, "Till all the scene one glassy surface shine." Mid shrubs, and tangled grass, with sparkling waves, A little vagrant brook the valley laves; Now hid, now seen, the wanton waters speed, "A Lake! she cries, this source can never fail, "A lake shall fill our undulating dale! "No more the dingles shall sink dark and deep, "No waving hedgerows round the meadows sweep; "All must be Lake this level lawn between, "And those bare hills, and rocks, that form the 66 screen, "Peer o'er the yet proud woods, and close the " scene." What recks it her that, many a tedious year, See, at the pert behest, subservient toil Plough with the victim woods the echoing soil! See, the forced flood th' o'erwhelmed valley laves, O'er fields, lanes, thickets, spread the silent waves!No lively hue of spring they know to wear, No gorgeous glow of the consummate year; No tinge that gold-empurpled autumn spreads O'er the rich woodland, sloping from the meads, But stagnant, mute, unvarying, cold, and pale, They meet the winter-wind, and summer-gale. - Between the base of yonder gothic pile, In part, from that dull pool's eternal grey; Too late the slumbering Genius of the scene His winding brook, green wood, and mead and dell, In vain he curses the fantastic power, And the pale ravage of her idiot-hour; But no vindictive ire the spell revokes, No green field blossoms, and no hedge-rows wave! And Eurus howls along the deluged vale. His reign usurp'd, since Time can ne'er restore, Indignant rising to return no more, His eyes concealing with one lifted hand, Shadowing the waters, as his wings expand, The injured Genius seeks the d stant coast, Like Abdiel, flying from the rebel host. |