RICHARD PAYNE KNIGHT, Esq. author of The Landscape, a didactic poem, 4to. 1794. A second edition, _with a preface_, appeared in 4to. in 1795. This poem is the only production of Mr. Knight, on the subject of landscape scenery, except his occasional allusions thereto, in his Analytical Enquiry into the Principles of Taste, the second edition of which appeared in 8vo. in 1805. This latter work embraces a variety of subjects, and contains many energetic pages, particularly those on Homer, and on the English drama. His philosophical survey of human life "in its last stages," (at p. 461), and where he alludes to "the hooks and links which hold the affections of age," is worthy of all praise; it is deep, solemn, and affecting. The other publications of this gentleman are enumerated in Dr. Watts's Bibl. Brit. Mr. Knight, in his Landscape, after invoking the genius of Virgil, in reference to his _----O qui me gelidis in vallibus Hoemi Sistat, et ingenti ramorum protegat unbrâ,_ thus proceeds, after severely censuring Mr. _Browne_, who ----bade the stream 'twixt banks close shaved to glide; Banish'd the thickets of high-bowering wood, Which hung, reflected o'er the glassy flood: Where screen'd and shelter'd from the heats of day, Oft on the moss-grown stone reposed I lay, And tranquil view'd the limpid stream below, Brown with o'er hanging shade, in circling eddies flow. Dear peaceful scenes, that now prevail no more, Your loss shall every weeping muse deplore! Your poet, too, in one dear favour'd spot, Shall shew your beauties are not quite forgot: Protect from all the sacrilegious waste Of false improvement, and pretended taste, _One tranquil vale!_[100] where oft, from care retir'd He courts the muse, and thinks himself inspired; Lulls busy thought, and rising hope to rest, And checks each wish that dares his peace molest. After scorning "wisdom's solemn empty toys," he proceeds: Let me, retir'd from business, toil, and strife, Close amidst books and solitude my life; Beneath yon high-brow'd rocks in thickets rove, Or, meditating, wander through the grove; Or, from the cavern, view the noontide beam Dance on the rippling of the lucid stream, While the wild woodbine dangles o'er my head, And various flowers around their fragrance spread. * * * * * Then homeward as I sauntering move along, The nightingale begins his evening song; Chanting a requiem to departed light, That smooths the raven down of sable night. After an animated tribute to _Homer_, he reviews the rising and the slumbering, or drooping of the arts, midst storms of war, and gloomy bigotry.