Admir'd Salopia! that with venial pride
Eyes her bright form in Severn's ambient wave,
Fam'd for her loyal cares in perils try'd,

Her daughters lovely, and her striplings brave:
Ah! midst the rest, may flowers adorn his grave,
Whose art did first these dulcet cates display!
A motive fair to learning's imps he gave,
Who cheerless o'er her darkling region stray;
Till reason's morn arise, and light them on their way.

ON A TABLET AGAINST A ROOT-HOUSE.

HERE, in cool grot and mossy cell,

We rural fays and fairies dwell;
Though rarely seen by mortal eye,
When the pale moon ascending high,

Darts through yon limes her quivering beams,
We frisk it near these crystal streams.

Her beams, reflected from the wave,
Afford the light our revels crave;
The turf, with daisies broider'd o'er,
Exceeds, we wot, the Parian floor;
Nor yet for artful strains we call,
But listen to the water's fall.

Would you then taste our tranquil scene,
Be sure your bosoms be serene;
Devoid of hate, devoid of strife,
Devoid of all that poisons life:

And much it 'vails you in their place,

To graft the love of human race.

And tread with awe these favour'd bowers,

Nor wound the shrubs, nor bruise the flowers;
So may your path with sweets abound;
So may your couch with rest be crown'd!
But harm betide the wayward swain,
Who dares our hallow'd haunts profane!

ON THE BACK OF A GOTHIC SEAT.

SHEPHERD, Would'st thou here obtain
Pleasure unalloy'd with pain?
Joy that suits the rural sphere?
Gentle shepherd, lend an ear.

Learn to relish calm delight,
Verdant vales and fountains bright;
Trees that nod on sloping hills,
Caves that echo tinkling rills.

If thou canst no charm disclose
In the simplest bud that blows;
Go, forsake thy plain and fold,
Join the crowd, and toil for gold.

Tranquil pleasures never cloy;
Banish each tumultuous joy:
All but love-for love inspires
Fonder wishes, warmer fires.

Love and all its joys be thine-
Yet, ere thou the reins resign,
Hear what reason seems to say,
Hear attentive, and obey.

"Crimson leaves the rose adorn,
"But beneath them lurks a thorn;
"Fair and flowery is the brake,
"Yet it hides the vengeful snake.

“Think not she, whose empty pride
"Dares the fleecy garb deride,
"Think not she, who, light and vain,
"Scorns the sheep can love the swain.

"Artless deed and simple dress
"Mark the chosen shepherdess;
"Thoughts by decency control'd,
"Well conceiv'd and freely told.

"Sense that shuns each conscious air,
“ Wit, that falls ere well aware;
"Generous pity, prone to sigh
"If her kid or lambkin die.

"Let not lucre, let not pride,

"Draw thee from such charms aside;
"Have not those their proper sphere?
"Gentler passions triumph here.

"See to sweeten thy repose,

"The blossom buds, the fountain flows;
"Low to crown thy healthful board,

"All that milk and fruits afford.

"Seek no more-the rest is vain
"Pleasure ending soon in pain :

"Anguish lightly gilded o'er :

"Close thy wish and seek no more."

ON THE BACK OF A GOTHIC ALCOVE.

O you that bathe in courtly blysse
Or toyle in fortune's giddy spheare;
Do not too rashly deem amysse

Of him that bydes contented here.

Nor yet disdeigne the russet stoale,

Which o'er each carelesse lymb he flyngs:
Nor yet deryde the beechen bowle,

In whyche he quaffs the lympid springs.

Forgive him, if at eve or dawne,

Devoide of worldlye cark he stray:
Or all beside some flowery lawne,
He waste his inoffensive daye.

So may he pardonne fraud and strife,
If such in courtlye haunt he see:
For faults there beene in busye life,
From whyche these peaceful glens are free.

ON A SEAT,

At the Bottom of a large Root, on the Side of a Slope.

O LET me haunt this peaceful shade;

Nor let ambition e'er invade

The tenants of this leafy bower,

That shun her paths, and slight her power!
Hither the peaceful Halcyon flies
From social meads and open skies;
Pleas'd by this rill her course to steer,
And hide her sapphire plumage here.

The trout, bedropt with crimson stains,
Forsakes the river's proud domains;
Forsakes the sun's unwelcome gleam,
To lurk within this humble stream.

And sure I hear the Naiad say,
Flow, flow, my stream, this devious way,
Though lovely soft thy murmurs are,
Thy waters lovely cool and fair.

Flow, gentle stream, nor let the vain
Thy small unsully'd stores disdain :
Nor let the pensive sage repine,
Whose latent course resembles thine.

AKENSIDE.

MARK AKENSIDE, whom the ancients would have celebrated as a legitimate son of Apollo, as he was distinguished both for his talents in poetry and medicine, was born of humble parentage, and first saw the light, at Newcastle on Tyne, in 1721. His family were dissenters; and giving early proofs of talents and application, he was sent to the University of Edinburgh, with a view of qualifying him for the ministry. He however, soon quitted the study of divinity for medicine; and after some time spent at Edinburgh, he proceeded to Leyden in pursuit of medical knowledge, where he graduated in 1744. About this time, his immortal work, "The Pleasures of Imagination," was published; which being seen in manuscript by Pope, received no mean commendation from that illustrious poet.

Soon after Akenside returned from Leyden, he produced his first collection of odes, in one of which he stigmatizes Pulteny as the betrayer of his country. In fact, Akenside was a warm patriot, and what he felt, he expressed, regardless of rank or place.

Having attempted in vain to establish himself in professional practice at Northampton, and afterwards at Hampstead, he finally settled in London; and had the good fortune to attract the regard of Jeremiah Dyson, who with singular generosity, settled an annuity on him of 300l. a year, to enable him to elbow his way with more effect. In due time, he became a Fellow of the Royal Society, obtained a degree at Cambridge, was elected a Fellow of the College of Physicians, and one of the physicians of St. Thomas's Hospital. And with establishment of the Queen's Household, he had the