SAMUEL BOYSE,

Born 1708, died 1749.

ON PLATONIC LOVE.

PLATONIC Love !-a pretty name
For that romantic fire,

When souls confess a mutual flame,
Devoid of loose desire.

If this new doctrine once prove true,
I own it something odd is,

That lovers should each other view
As if they wanted bodies.

If spirits thus can live embraced,
The union may be lasting :

But, faith! 'tis hard the mind should feast,
And keep its partner fasting.

"Nature (says Horace) is in tears,

When her just claim 's denied her;"

And this platonic love appears

To be a scrimp provider.

SAMUEL JOHNSON,

Born 1709, died 1785.

SUMMER.

O PHOEBUS! down the western sky,
Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
Thy light to distant worlds supply,
And wake them to the cares of day.

Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.

Lay me where o'er the verdant ground
The living carpet Nature spreads;
Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,
In showers its fragrant foliage sheds.

Improve the peaceful hour with wine,
Let music die along the grove ;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
And every strain be tuned to love.

Come, Stella, queen of all my heart!
Come born to fill its vast desires;

Thy looks perpetual joy impart,

Thy voice perpetual love inspires.

Whilst all my wish and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let sighing gales our sighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.

Let me, when Nature calls to rest,
And blushing skies the morn foretell,

Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.

EVENING ODE.TO STELLA.

EVENING now from purple wings
Sheds the grateful gifts she brings;
Brilliant drops bedeck the mead,
Cooling breezes shake the reed;
Shake the reed, and curl the stream
Silver'd o'er with Cynthia's beam;
Near the chequer'd, lonely grove,
Hears and keeps thy secrets, Love!
Stella, thither let us stray,

Lightly o'er the dewy way.

Phoebus drives his burning car,
Hence, my lovely Stella, far;
In his stead, the queen of night
Round us pours a lambent light:
Light that seems but just to show

Breasts that beat, and cheeks that glow;

Let us now, in whisper'd joy,
Evening's silent hours employ ;
Silence best, the conscious shades,
Please the hearts that love invades ;
Other pleasures give them pain,
Lovers all but love disdain.

WILLIAM SHENSTONE,

Born 1714, died 1763.

THE LANDSCAPE.

How pleased within my native bowers, Erewhile I pass'd the day!

Was ever scene so decked with flowers?
Were ever flowers so gay?

How sweetly smiled the hill, the vale,
And all the landscape round!

The river gliding down the dale,

The hill with beeches crown'd!

But now, when urged by tender woes,
I speed to meet my dear;
That hill and stream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.

No more, since Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I see :

That verdant hill and silver stream

Divide my love and me.

THE SCHOLAR'S RELAPSE.

By the side of a grove, at the foot of a hill,
Where whisper'd the beech, and where murmur'd the rill,
I vow'd to the Muses my time and my care,
Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair.

Free I ranged like the birds, like the birds free I sung, And Delia's loved name scarce escaped from my tongue : But if once a smooth accent delighted my ear,

I should wish, unawares, that my Delia might hear.

With fairest ideas my bosom I stored,
Allusive to none but the nymph I adored;
And the more I with study my fancy refined,
The deeper impression she made on my mind.

So long as of Nature the charms I pursue,
I still must my Delia's dear image renew;
The Graces have yielded with Delia to rove,
And the Muses are all in alliance with Love.