THOMAS GRAY, Born 1716, died 1771. AMATORY LINES. WITH beauty, with pleasure surrounded, to languish- Sighs sudden and frequent, looks ever dejected, Words that steal from my tongue, but no meaning con Ah, say, fellow swains, how these symptoms befel me? They smile, but reply not-sure Delia can tell me! MARK AKENSIDE, Born 1721, died 1770. SONG. THE shape alone let others prize, I look for spirit in her eyes, A damask cheek, an ivory arm, Give me an animated form That speaks a mind within. A face where awful honour shines, Where sense and sweetness move, And angel innocence refines The tenderness of love. These are the soul of Beauty's frame, Without whose vital aid, Unfinish'd all her features seem, And all her roses dead. But, ah! where both their charms unite, How perfect is the view; With every image of delight, Of power to charm the greatest woe, Their power but faintly to express And read it perfect there. JOSEPH WARTON, Born 1722, died 1800. ON THE SPRING.-TO A LADY. Lo! Spring, array'd in primrose-colour'd robe, Fresh beauties sheds on each enliven'd scene, With showers and sunshine cheers the smiling globe, And mantles hill and dale in glowing green. All nature feels her vital heat around, The pregnant glebe now bursts with foodful grain ; With kindly warmth she opes the frozen ground, And with new life informs the teeming plain. She calls the fishes from their oozy beds, She bids the herds bound sportive o'er the mead, No more the glaring tiger roams for prey, To find his spotted mate he darts away, While gentler thoughts the thirst of blood control. But, ah! while all is warmth and soft desire, You feel not, Amoret, her quickening fire, WILLIAM MASON, Born 1725, died 1797. SONG. WHEN first I dared, by soft surprise, Of trembling joy and pleasing fear ; But soon the crimson glow return'd, Ere half my passion was express'd; The eye that closed, the cheek that burn'd, The quivering lip, the panting breast, Show'd that she wish'd or thought me true; For what has art with love to do? Ah! speak, I cried, thy soft assent: She strove to speak, she could but sigh; A glance, more heavenly eloquent, She press'd my hand with fervour new ; For what has art with love to do? Ye practised nymphs, who, from your charms, Secure of native powers to please, My Flavia scorns all mean pretence ; Her form is elegance and ease, Her soul is truth and innocence; And these, O heartfelt extasy! She gives to honour, love, and me. OLIVER GOLDSMITH, Born 1728, died 1774.. STANZAS ON WOMAN. WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, |