Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO DR. DARWIN, ON READING HIS LOVES OF PLANTS, by ELIZABETH MOODY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO DR. DARWIN, ON READING HIS LOVES OF PLANTS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: No bard e'er gave his tuneful powers
Last Line: To libel harmless trees and flowers.
Alternate Author Name(s): Greenly, Elizabeth
Subject(s): Darwin, Erasmus (1731-1802); Linneaus (carl Von Linne) (1707-1778); Plants; Planting; Planters


No Bard e'er gave his tuneful powers,
Thus to traduce the fame of flowers;
Till Darwin sung his gossip tales,
Of females woo'd by twenty males.
Of Plants so given to amorous pleasure;
Incontinent beyond all measure.
He sings that in botanic schools,
Husbands adopt licentious rules;
Plurality of Wives they wed,
And all they like—they take to bed.
That Lovers sigh with secret love,
And marriage rites clandestine, prove.
That, fann'd in groves their mutual fire,
They to some Gretna Green retire.

Linneus things, no doubt, reveal'd,
Which prudent Plants would wish conceal'd;
So free of families he spoke,
As must that modest race provoke.
Till he invaded Flora's bowers
None heard of marriage among flowers;
Sexual distinctions were unknown;
Discover'd by the Swede alone.
He blab'd through all the list'ning groves,
The mystick rites of flow'ry loves.
He pry'd in every blossom's fold,
And all he saw unseemly—told.
Blab'd tales of many a feeble swain;
Unmeet to join in Flora's train;
Unless appointed by her care,
Like Turkish guards to watch the fair.
These vegetable monsters claim,
Alliance with the Eunuch's name.
In every herb and tree that grows;
Some frail propensity he shows.

But then in prose Linneus prattles,
And soon forgot is all he tattles.
While memory better pleas'd retains,
The frolicks of poetic brains.

So when the Muse with strains like thine
Enchantment breathes through every line;
That Reason pausing makes a stand,
Control'd by Fiction's magic hand.
Enamour'd we the verse pursue,
And feel each fair delusion true.

Luxuriant thought thy mind o'ergrows;
Such painting from thy pencil flows;
Warm to my sight the visions rise,
And thy rich fancy mine supplies.
Thy themes rehearsing in my bower;
From those I picture ev'ry flower;
With thy descriptive forms imprest,
I see them in thy colours drest;
Rememb'ring all thy lays unfold,
The snow-drop freezes me with cold.
I hear the love-sick violet's sighs,
And see the hare-bell's azure eyes.
See jealous cowslips hang their heads,
And virgin lilies—pine in beds.
The primrose meets my tinctur'd view,
Far paler than before—she grew.
While Woodbines wanton seem to twine,
And reeling shoots the maud'ling vine.

If e'er I seek the Cypress shade,
Whose branches contemplation aid.
Of learned lore my thoughts possest,
Might dwell on mummies in a chest.
Unperishable chests 'tis said,
Where the Egyptian dead were laid,
Are of the Cypress timber made.
And gates of Rome's fam'd church they say,
Defying mould'ring time's decay;
From Constantine to Pope Eugene,
Eleven hundred years were seen,
In perfect state of sound and good,
Form'd of this Adamantine wood.
Then, DARWIN! were it not for thee,
I sure must venerate this tree.
But as his boughs hang o'er my head,
I recollect from you I read,
His wife he exiles from his bed.

Since thus thy fascinating art,
So takes possession of the heart,
Go bid thy Muse a wreath prepare,
"To bind some charming Chloe's hair."
But tune no more thy Lyre's sweet powers,
To libel harmless trees and flowers.





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