A curious old seventeenth-century poet was the Jesuit, René Rapin. The copy of his poem entitled Gardens which I have seen, is the one in my daughter's collection of garden books; it was "English'd by the Ingenious Mr. Gardiner," and published in 1728. Hallam in his Introduction to the Literature of Europe gives a capital estimate of this long poem of over three thousand lines. I find them pretty dull reading, with much monotony of adjectives, and very affected notions for plant names. I fancy he manufactured all his tedious plant traditions himself.
Garden of Mary Washington.
A pleasing little book entitled Dante's Garden has collected evidence, from his writings, of Dante's love of green, growing things. The title is rather strained, since he rarely names individual flowers, and only refers vaguely to their emblematic significance. I would have entitled the book Dante's Forest, since he chiefly refers to trees; and the Italian gardens of his days were of trees rather than flowers. There are passages in his writings which have led some of his worshippers to believe that his childhood was passed in a garden; but these references are very indeterminate.
The picture of a deserted garden, with its sad sentiment has charmed the fancy of many a poet. Hood, a true flower-lover, wrote this jingle in his Haunted House:—
"The Marigold amidst the nettles blew,
The Gourd embrac'd the Rose bush in its ramble.
The Thistle and the Stock together grew,
The Hollyhock and Bramble.
"The Bearbine with the Lilac interlaced,
The sturdy Burdock choked its tender neighbor,
The spicy Pink. All tokens were effaced
Of human care and labor."