of a pure national poetry flowing clear as ever, 'breaking forth from the very heart

rs wept for grief, she did not find her son.' And the lines in which the youth forced into the cloister asks Nature to lament with him: 'I greet you all, hill and

Spring

to the wide,

and delig

ressing, the me

s beginnin

ok there! We can sc

soaring, the joy a

n

n to wander in the

another in sheer

ning brightly, and t

le, the foremo

ve feeling (the hunter is starting

e forest, still and

mber in it, but the a

e fir tops at their

ts up there launching f

t that's over, for th

ze of morning, rockin

ike children, like good

lation as it drops f

the forest he that

one's heart before i

al has a melody that reminds

ly by the Silesians. As Winter says, even the satirists Moscherosch and Logau were indirectly of use in paving the way for a healthier condition, through their severe criticisms of the corruption of the

is poems are full of disdain of the world and joy in Nature,[3] longings for death and lamentations over sin; he delighted in personifications of abstract ideas, childish playing with words

roars the wi

t curves l

ght of the sun

elf in the

past--the s

inging and

es steal i

resent thei

snakes and

go wandering

; the sun adorns herself in spring with a crown and a girdle of roses, fills her quiver with arrows, and sends her horses to gallop for miles across the smooth sky; the wind flies about, stopping for breath from time to time; shakes its wings and

e most doughty opponent of Lohenstein's bom

ured put to free the soul from a burden, and melodious as if by accident. As we turn over the le

lowers and tre

evenings here

head upon my sh

mes, what else

clover threw

d her lap with f

was a g

and starlight than th

eart uplifted from

ws apace till it sca

dy-love h

e I am wr

shady, cool

e slender

nd blow towar

e time mos

housand kis

Schwe

ings, bushes, fi

m well whos

ve heard, whos

y of those fine

lean

ar away. Walk i

alder rows,

oft-repe

s' cry shall b

ind plays with chee

ging, and kisses thee

of despair

winds of misfortune,

split bark

he tree of

re struck by this

ll storm and rain h

ai

I'll wande

I'll fl

ly doves

he wild th

s the prey

my power

grave

er than

t in return; but, as Goethe said of him, gifted but unsteady as he was, 'He

ike the baroque, and Germany enthusiastically adopting it (every petty prince in the land copied the gardens at Versailles, Schwetzingen more closely than the rest), a revolution which affected all Europe was brought about by England. The

fifteenth and sixteenth centuries shewed deep feeling for Nature, a

the nightingale s song in

I with

ed, that till

hat place I wa

ast, I gan f

in a fresh gre

er side, eve

passing a d

the eglentere

e sot

e, for, as fo

song was mor

asant to me

drink or an

1542) says of

do not s

e waves co

suit and

I am pas

in Love's Servile Lott,

as the mont

s full of

Aprill, wet

s full of

r rose and

are still

hope, beh

t, in fyne

) describes a garden

t daintie Par

offer to hi

leasures plent

others' happ

wres, the trees

de, the hilles fo

roves, the chri

all fair workes

that wrought app

was seldom visi

) wrote an ode on the

n the ut

we do

he mounta

to sleet

ur hours s

cise ou

erred his comfort to eve

y river

e in silv

of all

delicio

le and n

breem winte

arew (16

ore where J

s past, the

beauties'

, as in their

more whith

n atoms o

love Heave

rs to enric

ore whither

gale, when

sweet divi

and keeps wa

re where the

ds fall in d

eyes they si

e, as in th

more if ea

builds her

ou at last

r fragrant

owed a taste which he knew

he, who by so

amorous world,

tary, who i

erse with tha

et is birds' h

obbings of th

whisp'rings near a

t is zephyr's w

'd, which new-bo

t, to a night

t sing'st away

st or coming

th delights whi

ding sprays, swee

ings, to rills,

tor's goodnes

ifts on thee He

an sense in si

be so sick whi

etness, sweetl

arth's turmoils,

eets

u turn'st with al

mes, thy mantle b

l the green loc

y in pearls weep

(1746) sings

my frie

ood have wander

vulgar eye, a

ping cowslip

limpid stream

rrors through

methought the shr

g of love, the

ipe and soften

smell'd sweete

more deep, whi

s fellow pla

then the longe

uch in haste, sti

ted half; hal

to last--Of

how painful t

in a dry, dogmatic way in Windsor Forest, and pastoral poems, and after the publication of his Winter the taste of the day carried him

u must know that I have enlarged my rural domain ... walled, no, no! paled in about as much as my garden consisted of before, so that the walk runs round the hedge, where you may figure me walking any time of day, and sometimes of the night.... May

bout the country for weeks at a time, noting every sight and sound, down to the sm

e charm and delicacy, but, for the most part, they are only catalogu

or only interrupted by sermonizing; it is as m

undercurrent of all is praise of the Highest. His predilection is for stil

onia, in ro

tains, from t

th a keen d

soul acute; he

, and tall, by

d; her azure

tensive and o

eep and green, h

ol translucent

lovel

A Hymn

orrents rapid

ods that lead

e; and thou,

ld of wonder

est in the Seasons--the lack of happy moments of invention. Yet it had great influence on his

ring, ethereal

bosom of yon

kes around, ve

oses, on our p

tistic poem

pallid sky t

ot, that o'er

rs, stained; re

h around. The

dizzy poise,

to obey; whil

eaden-coloured

rcle round her

the turbid fl

tuse emit a

m to shoot, ath

them trail the

t eddies plays t

od the dancing

nostrils to t

eifer snuffs th

the downs, whe

r scanty fare, a

ks thick urge th

losing shelter

his bower, t

song. The co

deep, and scream

soaring heron,

a-fowl cleave t

l pressed, wi

ion heaves, whil

erns by the

tling mountain

unding bids th

ertain evidence, not only of a keen, but an ent

parent! whose

seasons of the

ow majestic,

asing dread the

nish'd, and as

try. Its long pious descriptions of natural phenomena have none of the imposing flow of Thomson's strophes. It treats of fire in 138 verses of eight lines each, of air in 79, water in 78, earth in 74, while flowers and fruit are dissected and analyzed at great length; and all this rhymed botany and physics is loosely strung together, but

gratitude was a wrong to the Creator, and unbecoming in Christendom. I therefore composed different pieces, chiefly in Spring, and tried my best to describe the beauties of Natu

the teleological argument is very laughable;

t, and its blood cures vertigo--the skin is no less useful. Doth not the love as

t will serve to give an idea of his style; they certainly do hono

sat on the

a lime tre

eyes by ch

ere and there, so

all in light, an

s bowed dow

ifully both air

wned and

be the gr

scape it mak

me time prolo

pencil

ribe the beautifu

y of God th

y the world lays

y is none whic

green

are for pure be

n roofin

feel yo

ere, a livi

of God and ou

trees that

w one in f

e would sc

wilight, ligh

y side in l

ough the le

as we see

rom one s

n almost s

ith the tende

or another

med prose, had his moments of rare elevation of thought and mystical raptu

n the sapph

arth nor water

mbed aerial

d glance, now

r sank--horror

dizzy and my

inite va

ture of

thout bi

alone it

whelmed

dome of dee

ss without bi

very world--bu

led to an atom

st m

ly it bea

tened wit

ary nothingness,

! in Thee--I fo

he principle of English garden-craft in the first half of the eighteenth century.[9] The line of progress here, as in taste generally, did not run straightforward, but fluctuated. From the geometric gardens of Lenotre, England passed to the opposite extr

plant, whatev

olumn, or the

terrace or to

Nature neve

scenery with a painter's eye, he noted its characteristic features--the gentle undulatio

f trees of different sorts--dark fir and alder here, silver birch and grey poplar there; and

f Nature. It was, in fact, to be a number of such bits, each distinct from the rest--waterfall, sheltered sunny nook, dark wood, light glade. Kent himself soon began to vary this mosa

ks, swamps, and deserts, as well as sunny fields and plains, while English gardens were comparatively monotonous. When the fashion for the Chinese style came in, as unluckily it did just when we were trying to oust th

g sentimentality. Richardson's novels fed the taste for the pleasures of weeping sensibility, and garden-craft fell under its sway.

nglish novels, and for the idyllic poets and moonshine singers of Germany. Here it was the fashion to wander, tenderly intertwined, shedding floods of tears and exchanging kisses

assic and romantic styles competed for favour in architecture; at one moment everything must needs be purely classic, each temple Corinthian, Ionic, or Doric; at another Gothic, with the ruins and fort

it from its unnatural excrescences, with the formula: the garden should be an artistic representation of the landscape, a work of art whose materials are pro

ts numberless imitations; yet the book roused a longing for healthier, more natural conditions in thousands of minds. It led the idyllic tendency of the day back to its source, and by shewing al

th himself and Nature. The readers of Robinson Crusoe were in much the same position. Defoe was not only a true artist, but a man of noble, patient character, and

e French Pigtail style, was more impressed by Robinson Crusoe than by any other book.