THE HOP GARDEN,
A Georgic, in Two Books.
"Me quoque Parnassi per lubrica culmina raptat
Laudis amor: studium sequor insanabile vatis,
Ausus non operam, non formidare poetæ
Nomen, adoratum quondam, nunc pæne procaci
Monstratum digito."-Van. Præd, Rust.
The land that answers best the farmer's care,
And silvers to maturity the hop;
When to inhume the plants, to turn the glebe,
And wed the tendrils to th' aspiring poles;
Under what sign to pluck the crop, and how
To cure, and in capacious sacks infold,
I teach in verse Miltonian-smile the muse,
And meditate an honor to that land
Where first I breath'd, and struggled into life,
Impatient, Cantium, to be call'd thy son.
Oh! could I emulate skill'd Sidney's muse,
Thy Sidney, Cantium!-he, from court retir'd,
In Penshurst's sweet elysium sung delight—
Sung transport-to the soft-responding streams
Of Medway, and enliven'd all her groves;
While ever near him, goddess of the green,
Fair Pembroke sat, and smil'd immense applause :-
With vocal fascination charm'd, the hours
Unguarded left heav'n's adamantine gate,
And to his lyre, swift as the winged sounds
That skim the air, danc'd unperceiv'd away.
Had I such pow'r, no peasant's humble toil
Should e'er debase my lay; far nobler themes,
The high atchievements of thy warrior kings
Should raise my thoughts, and dignify my song.
But I, young rustic, dare not leave my cot,
For so enlarg❜d a sphere-ah! muse beware
Lest the loud 'larums of the braving trump,
Lest the deep drum should drown thy tender reed,
And mar its puny joints: me, lowly swain,
Ev'ry unshaven arboret, me the lawns,
Me the volumnious Medway's silver wave,
Content inglorious, and the hopland shades!
Yeomen and countrymen, attend my song :-
Whether you shiver in the marshy Weald,⚫
Egregious shepherds of unnumber'd flocks,
Whose fleeces, poison'd into purple, deck
All Europe's kings; or in fair Madum's † vale
Imparadis'd, blest denizons! ye dwell;
Or Dorovernia's awful tow'rs ye love;
Or plough Tunbridgia's salutiferous hills
Industrious, and with draughts chalybeate heal❜d,
Confess divine Hygeia's blissful seat;
The muse demands your presence e'er she tune
Her monitory voice; observe her well,
And catch the wholesome dictates as they fall.
'Midst thy paternal acres, farmer, say,
Has gracious heav'n bestow'd one field, that basks
Its loamy bosom in the mid-day sun,
Emerging gently from the abject vale,
Nor yet obnoxious to the wind?—secure
There shalt thou plant thy hop. This soil, perhaps, Thou'lt say, will fill my garners. Be it so.
But Ceres, rural goddess, at the best
Meanly supports her vot'ry; enough for her
If ill-persuading hunger she repel,
Commonly, but improperly called the Wild. + Maidstone. + Canterbury.
And keep the soul from fainting: to enlarge,
To glad the heart, to sublimate the mind,
And wing the flagging spirits to the sky,
Require th' united influence and aid
Of Bacchus, god of hops, with Ceres join'd:
"Tis he shall generate the buxom beer :
Then on one pedestal, and hand in hand,
Sculptur'd in Parian stone,-so gratitude
Indites, let the divine co-partners rise.
Stands eastward in thy field a wood? 'tis well-
Esteem it as a bulwark of thy wealth,
And cherish all its branches; though we'll grant,
Its leaves umbrageous may intercept
The morning rays, and envy some small share
Of Sol's beneficence to th' infant germ.
Yet grudge not that: when whistling Eurus comes,
With all his worlds of insects, in thy lands
To hyemate, and monarchise o'er all
Thy vegetable riches, then thy wood
Shall ope its arms expulsive, and embrace
The storm reluctant, and divert its rage.
Armies of animalcules urge their way
In vain; the ventilating trees oppose
Their airy march :-they blacken distant plains.
This site for thy young nursery obtain'd,
Thou hast begun auspicious, if the soil,
As sung before, be loamy; this the hop
Loves above others; this is rich, is deep,
Is viscous, and tenacious of the pole.
Yet, maugre all its native worth, it may
Be meliorated with warmth compost, See,
Yon craggy mountain*, whose fastidious head
• Boxley-Hill, which extends through great part of Kent.
Divides the star-set hemisphere above,
And Cantium's plains beneath; the Apennine
Of a free Italy, whose chalky sides,
With verdant shrubs dissimilarly gay,
Still captivate the eye, while at his feet
The silver Medway glides, and in her breast
Views the reflecting landscape, charm'd she views,
And murmurs louder ecstacy below:
Here let us rest a while, pleas'd to behold
Th' all beautiful horizon's wide
Far as the eagle's ken. Here tow'ring spires
First catch the eye, and turn the thoughts to heav'n;
The lofty elms in humble majesty
Bend with the breeze to shade the solemn grove,
And spread a holy darkness; Ceres there
Shines in her golden vesture: here the meads,
Enrich'd by Flora's dedal hand, with pride
Expose their spotted verdure. Nor are you,
Pomona! absent; you 'midst hoary leaves,
Swell the vermillion cherry; and on yon trees
Suspend the pippin's palatable gold.
There old Sylvanus, in that moss-grown grot,
Dwells with his wood-nymphs: they with chaplets green,
And russet mantles oft bedight, aloft
From yon bent oaks, in Medway's bosom fair,
Wonder at silver bleak, and prickly perch,
That swiftly through their floating forests glide.
Yet not ev'n these-these ever-varied scenes
Of wealth and pleasure can engage my eyes
T'oerlook the lowly hawthorn, if from thence
The thrush, sweet warbler, chants th' unstudied lays,
Which Phoebus' self, vaulting from yonder cloud,
Refulgent, with enliv'ning rays inspires.
But neither tow'ring spires, nor lofty elms,
Nor golden Ceres, nor the meadows green,
Nor orchats, nor the russet-mantled nymphs,
Which to the murmurs of the Medway dance,
Nor sweetly warbling thrush, with half those charms
Attract my eyes, as yonder hop-land close;
Joint work of art and nature, which reminds
The muse, and to her theme the wanderer calls.
Here, then, with pond'rous vehicles and teams
Thy rustics send, and from the caverns deep
Command them bring the chalk; thence to the kiln
Convey, and temper with Vulcanian fires.
Soon as 'tis form'd, thy lime with bounteous hand
O'er all thy lands disseminate; thy lands
Which first have felt the soft'ning spade, and drank
The strength'ning vapours from nutricious marl.
This done, select the choicest hop, t' insert
Fresh in the opening glebe. Say then, my muse,
Its various kinds, and from the effete and vile,
The eligible separate with care.
The noblest species is by Kentish wights
The master-hop y'clep'd.
Has given a stouter stalk; patient of cold,
Or Phoebus ev'n in youth, his verdant blood
In brisk saltation circulates and flows
Indefinitely vigorous: the next
Is arid, fetid, infecund, and gross,
Significantly styl'd the Friar: the last
Is call'd the Savage, who in ev'ry wood,
And ev'ry hedge, unintroduc'd, intrudes.
When such the merit of the candidates,
Easy is the election; but my friend,
Would'st thou ne'er fail, to Kent direct thy way,
Where no one shall be frustrated that seeks
|