[Dichtung]

Elizabeth Carter
To a Gentleman, on his Design of Cutting Down a Shady Walk
In plaintive Notes, 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.

Canst thou, the Son of Science, train’d
Where learned Isis flows,
Forget that nurs’d in shelt’ring Groves
The Grecian Genius rose.

Beneath the Platane’s spreading Branch,
Immortal Plato taught:
And fair Lyceum form’d the Depth
Of Aristotle’s Thought.

To Latian Groves reflect thy View,
And bless the Tuscan Gloom:
Where Eloquence deplor’d the Fate
Of Liberty and Rome.

Within the Beechen Shade retir’d,
From each inspiring Bough,
The Muses wove unfading Wreaths,
To circle Virgil’s Brow.

Reflect, before the fatal Ax
My threatened 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 recompense 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.

(c)