Lyssa
Har Har Harr
Gender :  Posts : 8965
Join date : 2012-03-01
Location : The Cockpit
 | Subject: Re: Gardens  Fri Aug 12, 2016 2:57 pm | |
| - Quote :
- "Component parts in all the eye requires:
One formal mass for ever palls and tires.
To make the Landscape grateful to the sight,
Three points of distance always should unite;
And howsoe'er the view may be confin'd,
Three mark'd divisions we shall always find:
Not more, where Claude extends his prospect
O'er Rome's Campania to the Tyrrhene tide,
(Where tow'rs and temples, mould'ring to decay,
In pearly air appear to die away.
And the soft distance, melting from the eye,
Dissolves its forms into the azure sky),
Than where, confin'd to some sequester'd rill,
Meek Hobbima presents the village mill:¬ ---
Not more, where great Salvator's mountains rise,
And hide their craggy summits in the skies;
While tow'ring clouds in whirling eddies roll,
And bursting thunders seem to shake the pole;
Than in the ivy'd cottage of Ostade,
Waterloe's copse, or Rysdael's low cascade.
Though oft o'erlook'd, the parts which are most near
Are ever found of most importance here;
For though in nature oft the wand'ring eye
Roams to the distant fields, and skirts the sky,
Where curiosity its look invites,
And space, not beauty, spreads out its delights;
Yet in the picture all delusions fly,
And nature's genuine charms we there descry;
The composition rang'd in order true,
Brings every object fairly to the view;
And, as the field of vision is confin'd,
Shews all its parts collected to the mind.
Hence let us learn, in real scenes, to trace
The true ingredients of the painter's grace;
To lop redundant parts, the coarse refine,
Open the crowded, and the scanty join.
But, ah! in vain: --- See yon fantastic band,
With charts, pedometers, and rules in hand,
Advance triumphant, and alike lay waste
The forms of nature, and the works of taste!
T'improve, adorn, and polish, they profess;
But shave the goddess, whom they come to dress;
Level each broken bank and shaggy mound,
And fashion all to one unvaried round;
One even round, that ever gently flows,
Nor forms abrupt, nor broken colours knows;
But, wrapt all o'er in everlasting green,
Makes one dull, vapid, smooth, and tranquil scene.
Arise, great poet [i.e. Virgil], and again deplore
The fav'rite reeds that deck'd thy Mincius' shore!
Protect the branches, that in Haemus shed
Their grateful shadows o'er thy aching head;
Shav'd to the brink, our brooks are taught to flow
Where no obtruding leaves or branches grow;
While clumps of shrubs bespot each winding vale,
Open alike to ev'ry gleam and gale;
Each secret haunt, and deep recess display'd,
And intricacy banish'd with its shade.
Hence, hence! thou haggard fiend, however call'd,
Thin, meagre genius of the bare and bald;
Thy spade and mattock here at length lay down,
And follow to the tomb thy fav'rite Brown:
Thy fav'rite Brown, whose innovating hand
First dealt thy curses o'er this fertile land;
First taught the walk in formal spires to move,
And from their haunts the secret Dryads drove;
With clumps bespotted o'er the mountain's side,
And bade the stream 'twixt banks close shaven glide;
Banish'd the thickets of high-bow'ring wood,
Which hung, reflected, o'er the glassy flood;
Where screen'd and shelter'd from the heats of day,
Oft on the moss-grown stone repos'd I lay,
And tranquil view'd the limpid stream below,
Brown with o'erhanging shade, in circling eddies flow . . .
OFT when I've seen some lonely mansion stand,
Fresh from th' improver's desolating hand,
'Midst shaven lawns, that far around it creep
In one eternal undulating sweep;
And scatter'd clumps, that nod at one another,
Each stiffly waving to its formal brother;
Tir'd with th' extensive scene, so dull and bare,
To Heav'n devoutly I've address'd my pray'r, ---
Again the moss-grown terraces to raise,
And spread the labyrinth's perplexing maze;
Replace in even lines the ductile yew,
And plant again the ancient avenue.
Some features then, at least, we should obtain,
To mark this flat, insipid, waving plain;
Some vary'd tints and forms would intervene,
To break this uniform, eternal green.
E'en the trimm'd hedges, that inclos'd the field,
Some consolation to the eye might yield;
But even these are studiously remov'd,
And clumps and bareness only are approv'd.
Though the old system against nature stood,
At least in this, 'twas negatively good: ---
Inclos'd by walls, and terraces, and mounds,
Its mischiefs were confin'd to narrow bounds;
Just round the house, in formal angles trac'd,
It mov'd responsive to the builder's taste;
Walls answer'd walls, and alleys, long and thin,
Mimick'd the endless passages within.
But kings of yew, and goddesses of lead,
Could never far their baneful influence spread;
Coop'd in the garden's safe and narrow bounds,
They never dar'd invade the open grounds;
Where still the roving ox, or browsing deer,
From such prim despots kept the country clear;
While uncorrupted still, on every side,
The ancient forest rose in savage pride;
And in its native dignity display'd
Each hanging wood and ever verdant glade;
Where ev'ry shaggy shrub and spreading tree
Proclaim'd the seat of native liberty;
In loose and vary'd groups unheeded thrown,
And never taught the planter's care to own
Some, tow'ring upwards, spread their arms in state;
And others, bending low, appear'd to wait:
While scatter'd thorns, brows'd by the goat and deer,
Rose all around, and let no lines appear.
Such groups did Claude's light pencil often trace,
The foreground of some classic scene to grace;
Such, humble Waterloe, to nature true,
Beside the copse, or village pasture drew.
But ah! how diff'rent is the formal lump
Which the improver plants, and calls a clump!
Break, break, ye nymphs, the fence that guards it round!
With browsing cattle, all its forms confound!
As chance or fate will have it, let it grow;¬ ---
Here spiring high; --- there cut, or trampled low.
No apter ornament can taste provide
T' embellish beauty, or defect to hide;
If train'd with care and undiscover'd skill,
Its just department in the scene to fill;
But with reserve and caution be it seen,
Nor e'er surrounded by the shaven green;
But in the foreground boldly let it rise,
Or join'd with other features meet the eyes:
The distant mansion, seen beneath its shade,
Is often advantageously display'd:¬ ---
But here, once more, ye rural muses, weep
The ivy'd balustrades, and terrace steep;
Walls, mellow'd into harmony by time,
O'er which fantastic creepers us'd to climb;
While statues, labyrinths, and alleys, pent
Within their bounds, at least were innocent!
Our modern taste, alas! no limit knows:¬ ---
O’er hill, o’er dale. Through woods and fields it flows;
Spreading o’er all its unprolific spawn,
In never-ending sheets of vapid dawn.
True composition all extremes rejects,
And just proportions still, of all, selects;
Wood, water, lawn, in just gradation joins,
And each with artful negligence combines:
But still in level, or slow-rising ground,
The wood should always be form th’ exterior bound;
Not as a belt, encircling the domain,
Which the tir’d eye attempts to trace in vain;
But as a bolder outline to the scene
Than the unbroken turf’s smooth even green.
But if some distant hill o’er all arise,
And mix its azure colours with the skies;
Or some near mountain its rough summits shew,
And bound with broken crags the Alpine view;
Or rise, with even slope and gradual swell,
Like the broad cone, or wide-extended bell; ---
Never attempt, presumptuous, to o’erspread
With starv’d plantations its bleak, barren head:
Nature herself the rash design withstands,
And guards her wilds from innovating hands;
Which, if successful, only would disgrace
Her giant limbs with fripp’ry, fringe, and lace . . .
The cover’d seat, that shelters from the storm,
May oft a feature in the Landscape form;
Whether compos’d of native stumps and roots,
It spreads the creeper’s rich fantastic shoots;
Or, rais’d with stones, irregularly pil’d,
It seems some cavern, desolate and wild:
But still of dress and ornament beware;
And hide each formal trace of art with care:
Let clust’ring ivy o’er its sides be spread,
And moss and weeds grow scatter’d o’er its head.
The stately arch, high-rais’d with massive stone;
The pond’rous flag, that forms a bridge alone;
The prostrate tree, or rudely propt-up beam,
That leads the path across the foaming stream;
May each the scene with diff’rent beauty grace,
If shewn with judgment in its proper place.
But false refinement vainly strives to please,
Within the thin, fragile bridge of the Chinese;
Light and fantastical, yet stiff and prim,
The child of barren fancy turn’d to whim . . .
The quarry long neglected, and o’ergrown
With thorns, that hang o’er mould’ring beds of stone,
May oft the place of nat'ral rocks supply,
And frame the verdant picture to the eye;
Or, closing round the solitary seat,
Charm with the simple scene of calm retreat.
Large stems of trees, and branches spreading wide,
May oft adorn the scenes which they divide;
For pond'rous masses, and deep shadows near,
Will shew the distant scene more bright and clear;
And forms distinctly mark'd, at once supply
A scale of magnitude and harmony;
From which receding gradually away,
The tints grow fainter and the lines decay.
The same effects may also be display'd
Through the high vaulted arch or colonnade: ---¬
But harsh and cold the builder's work appears,
Till soften'd down by long revolving years;
Till time and weather have conjointly spread
Their mould'ring hues and mosses o'er its head.
Bless'd is the man, in whose sequester'd glade,
Some ancient abbey's walls diffuse their shade;
With mould'ring windows pierc'd, and turrets crown'd,
And pinnacles with clinging ivy bound.
Bless'd too is he, who, 'midst his tufted trees,
Some ruin'd castle's lofty towers sees;
Imbosom'd high upon the mountain's brow,
Or nodding o'er the stream that glides below.
Nor yet unenvy'd, to whose humbler lot
Falls the retir'd and antiquated cot;¬ ---
Its roof with weeds and mosses cover'd o'er,
And honeysuckles climbing round the door;
While mantling vines along its walls are spread,
And clust'ring ivy decks the chimney's head.
from An Analytical Inquiry into the Principles of Taste (1805)
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_________________ [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus] "All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus] "The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.] *Become clean, my friends.* |
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