Here the strong mallow strikes her slimy root,
Here the dull night-shade hangs her deadly fruit;

On hills of dust the henbane's faded green,
And pencill'd flower of sickly scent is seen;

Here on its wiry stem, in rigid bloom,
Grows the salt lavender that lacks perfume.

At the wall's base the fiery nettle springs,
With fruit globose and fierce with poison'd stings;

In every chink delights the fern to grow,
With glossy leaf and tawny bloom below:

The few dull flowers that o'er the place are spread
Partake the nature of their fenny bed.

These, with our sea-weeds, rolling up and down,
Form the contracted Flora of our town.