Every one follows the inclinations of his own nature.
—Propertius.
1430
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe, and feel
What I am can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.
—Lord Byron.
1431
Who can paint
Like nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
—J. Thomson.
1432
Tender handed stroke a nettle
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains;
Thus it is with vulgar natures,
Use them kindly, they rebel:
But be rough as nutmeg graters,
And the rogues obey you well.