[652] Some unexpected difficulties had occurred in obtaining a curacy, with a title for orders.
[653] The celebrated poem of "the Botanic Garden," originated in a copy of verses, addressed by Miss Seward to Dr. Darwin, complimenting him on his sequestered retreat near Lichfield. In this retreat there was a mossy fountain of the purest water; aquatic plants bordered its summit, and branched from the fissures of the rock. There was also a brook, which he widened into small lakes. The whole scene formed a little paradise, and was embellished with various classes of plants, uniting the Linnean science, with all the charm of landscape.
When Miss Seward presented her verses to Dr. Darwin, he was highly gratified, she observes, and said, "I shall send this poem to the periodical publications; but it ought to form the exordium of a great work. The Linnean system is unexplored poetic ground, and a happy subject for the muse. It affords fine scope for poetic landscape; it suggests metamorphoses of the Ovidian kind, though reversed. Ovid made men and women into flowers, plants, and trees. You should make flowers, plants, and trees, into men and women. I," continued he, "will write the notes, which must be scientific, and you shall write the verse."
Miss S. remarked, that besides her want of botanic knowledge, the undertaking was not strictly proper for a female pen; and that she felt how much more it was adapted to the ingenuity and vigour of his own fancy. After many objections urged on the part of Dr. Darwin, he at length acquiesced, and ultimately produced his "Loves of the Plants, or Botanic Garden."*
Though this poem obtained much celebrity on its first appearance, it was nevertheless severely animadverted upon by some critics. A writer in the Anti-Jacobin Review, (known to be the late Mr. Canning) parodied the work, by producing "The Loves of the Triangles," in which triangles were made to fall in love with the same fervour of passion, as Dr. Darwin attributed to plants. The style, the imagery, and the entire composition of "The Loves of the Plants," were most successfully imitated. We quote the following.
*See Life of Dr. Darwin, by Miss Seward.
"In filmy, gauzy, gossamery lines,
With lucid language, and most dark designs,
In sweet tetrandryan monogynian strains,
Pant for a pistil in botanic pains;
Raise lust in pinks, and with unhallowed fire,
Bid the soft virgin violet expire."
We do not think that the Botanic Garden ever fully maintained its former estimation, after the keen Attic wit of Mr. Canning, though the concluding lines of Cowper seem to promise perpetuity to its fame.
[654] That a very perceptible change, generally speaking, has taken place in the climate of Great Britain, and that the same observation applies to other countries, has been a frequent subject of remark, both with the past and present generation. Various causes have been assigned for this peculiarity. It has been said that nature is growing old, and losing its elasticity and vigour. Others have attributed the change to the vast accumulation of ice in the Polar regions, and its consequent influence on the temperature of the air. Dr. Darwin humorously suggested the scheme of giving rudders and sails to the Ice Islands, that they might be wafted by northern gales, and thus be absorbed by the heat of a southern latitude. It is worthy of remark that in Milton's Latin Poems, there is a college thesis on this subject, viz. whether nature was becoming old and infirm. Milton took the negative of this proposition, and maintained, naturam non pati senium, that nature was not growing old. Cowper in his translation of this poem, thus renders some of the passages.
How?—Shall the face of nature then be plough'd
Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last
On the great Parent fix a sterile curse?
Shall even she confess old age, and halt,
And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows?—
Shall Time's unsated maw crave and ingulph
The very heav'ns, that regulate his flight?—
No. The Almighty Father surer laid
His deep foundations, and providing well
For the event of all, the scales of Fate
Suspended, in just equipoise, and bade
His universal works, from age to age,
One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb'd.—
Not tardier now is Saturn than of old,
Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars.
Phœbus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows
Th' effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god
A downward course, that he may warm the vales;
But, ever rich in influence, runs his road,
Sign after sign, through all the heavenly zone.
Beautiful as at first, ascends the star
From odorif'rous Ind, whose office is
To gather home betimes th' ethereal flock,
To pour them o'er the skies again at eve,
And to discriminate the night and day.
Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes and wanes
Alternate, and with arms extended still,
She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams.
Nor have the elements deserted yet
Their functions.—
Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds;
And shall, till, wide involving either pole
And the immensity of yonder heav'n,
The final flames of destiny absorb
The world, consum'd in one enormous pyre!