The ballad written in anapæstic verse has an Arcadian grace, against which even Johnson's robust intellect was not proof. For the following lines he says, 'if any mind denies its sympathy it has no acquaintance with love or nature': 'When forced the fair nymph to forego, What anguish I felt in my heart! Yet I thought--but it might not be so-- 'Twas with pain that she saw me depart. She gazed as I slowly withdrew, My path I could hardly discern; So sweetly she bade me adieu, I thought that she bade me return. The _Schoolmistress_, written in imitation of Spenser, has the merits of simplicity and homely humour. The village dame is a life-like character, and the urchins whom she is supposed to teach, and does sometimes teach by chastisement, are cunningly portrayed. From the verses _Written at an Inn in Henley_ three stanzas may be quoted. The last will be already known to readers familiar with their Boswell: 'I fly from pomp, I fly from plate, I fly from falsehood's specious grin! Freedom I love, and form I hate, And choose my lodgings at an inn. 'Here, waiter! take my sordid ore, Which lacqueys else might hope to win; It buys what courts have not in store, It buys me freedom at an inn! 'Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn.' Unhappily this final verse, which Johnson is said to have repeated 'with great emotion,' has lost its application. The modern traveller, instead of being warmly welcomed at an inn, loses his identity and becomes a number. [Sidenote: Mark Akenside (1721-1770).]