The ductile ſtreams obey the guiding hand,
And ſocial plenty circles round the land.
But nobler praiſe awaits our green retreats;
The Muſes here have fix'd their ſacred ſeats.
Mark where its ſimple front yon manſion rears,
The nurſery of men for future years!
Here callow chiefs and embryo ſtateſmen lie,
And unfledg'd poets ſhort excurſions try:
While Merſey's gentle current, which too long
By fame neglected, and unknown to ſong,
Between his ruſhy banks, (no poet's theme)
Had crept inglorious, like a vulgar ſtream,
Reflects th' aſcending ſeats with conſcious pride,
And dares to emulate a claſſic tide.
Soft muſic breathes along each op'ning ſhade,
And ſooths the darning of his rough caſcade.
With myſric lines his ſands are figured o'er,
