To
a
GENTLEMAN
,
On
his
intending
to
cut
down
a
GROVE
to
enlarge
his
Prospect
.
By
the
Same
.
IN
plaintive
sounds
,
that
tun'd
to
woe
The
sadly
sighing
breeze
,
A
weeping
HAMADRYAD
mourn'd
Her
fate-devoted
trees
.
Ah
!
stop
thy
sacrilegious
hand
,
Nor
violate
the
shade
,
Where
Nature
form'd
a
silent
haunt
For
Contemplation's
aid
.
Can'st
thou
,
the
son
of
Science
,
bred
Where
learned
Isis
flows
,
Forget
that
,
nurs'd
in
shelt'ring
groves
,
The
Grecian
genius
rose
?
Within
the
plantane's
spreading
shade
,
Immortal
PLATO
taught
;
And
fair
LYCEUM
form'd
the
depth
Of
ARISTOTLE'S
thought
.
To
Latian
groves
reflect
thy
views
,
And
bless
the
Tuscan
bloom
;
Where
Eloquence
deplor'd
the
fate
Of
Liberty
and
Rome
.
Retir'd
beneath
the
beechen
shade
,
From
each
inspiring
bough
The
Muses
wove
th'
unfading
wreaths
That
circled
VIRGIL'S
brow
.
Reflect
before
the
fatal
ax
My
threaten'd
doom
has
wrought
;
Nor
sacrifice
to
sensual
taste
The
nobler
growth
of
thought
.
Not
all
the
glowing
fruits
that
blush
On
India's
sunny
coast
,
Can
recompence
thee
for
the
worth
Of
one
idea
lost
.
My
shade
a
produce
may
supply
,
Unknown
to
solar
fire
;
And
what
excludes
APOLLO'S
rays
,
Shall
harmonize
his
lyre
.