Sweet shades, adieu! here let my dust remain, Covered with flowers, and free from noise and pain; Let evergreens the turfy tomb adorn, And roseate dews (the glory of the morn) My carpet deck; then let my soul possess The happier scenes of an eternal bliss. He asks "What solid pleasure is there not to be found in gardening? Its pursuit is easy, quiet, and such as put neither the body nor mind into those violent agitations, or precipitate and imminent dangers that many other exercises (in themselves very warrantable) do. The end of this is health, peace, and plenty, and the happy prospect of felicities more durable than any thing in these sublunary regions, and to which this is (next to the duties of religion) the surest path." His attachment to some of our own poets, and to the classic authors of antiquity, discovers itself in many of his pages; and his devout turn of mind strongly shines throughout. His allusion to Homer, in vol. iii. page 7, sufficiently shews how ardently this industrious servant, this barrow wheeler, must have searched the great writers of ancient times, to discover their attachment to rural nature, and to gardens. His candid and submissive mind thus speaks:--"If we would, therefore, arrive at any greater perfection than we are in gardening, we must cashiere that mathematical stiffness in our gardens, and imitate nature more; how that is to be done, will appear in the following chapters, which though they may not be, as new designs scarce ever are, the most perfect, it will at least excite some after-master to take pen and pencil in hand, and finish what is here thus imperfectly begun, and this is my comfort, that I shall envy no man that does it. I have, God be praised, learned to admire, and not envy every one that outgoes me: and this will, I hope, go a great way in making me easy and happy under the pressures of a very narrow fortune, and amidst the ruffles of an ill-natured world. I have tasted too severely of the lashes of man, to take any great satisfaction in any thing but doing my duty."[39] In his devout and magnificent Essay on the Sun, he says, "'tis admirable that this planet should, through so many ages of the world, maintain an uninterrupted course, that in so many thousands of revolving years, it should retain the same light, heat, and vigour, and every morning renew its wonted alacrity, and dart its cherishing beams on these dull and gloomy scenes of melancholy and misery, and yet that so few of us rightly consider its power, or are thankful to Divine Omnipotence for it. The great Roscommon (not greater than good) speaks of it with divine transport, and exhorts mankind to admire it, from the benefits and celestial beams it displays on the world:-- Great eye of all, whose glorious ray Rules the bright empire of the day; O praise his name, without whose purer light Thou hadst been hid in an abyss of night."[40]