SAMUEL SAY.

Born 1675, died 1743.

TO VALENTINE, ON THE RETURN OF SPRING.

Hail, best of Bishops, and of Saints the best By flaming Love distinguished from the rest; By love, the life in heaven, and business of the blest.

Love made the world! 'Twas love alone could draw

The disagreeing seeds to Natures law;

Heaven saw the effects of Love, and bless'd them when

it saw.

Hence, mighty Saint, thy power deriv'd from Love, Thy great commission reaches all above;

And earth and sea beneath, and all that live and move.

Thou call'st the flowers! they feel the glad command;

On sunny banks in smiling rows they stand, Broke from their mother's womb, and dress'd by Nature's hand.

By thee the birds salute the welcome Spring, Inspir'd by thee and Love, in pairs they sing: With music and with joy the woods and vallies ring.

Fierce tigers yield to thee! To hear thy voice,
The gentle hind and rugged bears rejoice;

And fishes scud the waves, to meet their happy choice

See, see, the cheerful morn! how bright it shines! With larger steps the Sun his course reclines, As conscious of thy day, as favouring thy designs:

All wed below, and he above would wed; The youthful earth has drest her fragrant bed, And promises her shades to shroud his radiant head.

At his approach the storms and winter fly; The joyful bride her snowy vest lays by, Nor does, untimely coy, her naked form deny.

Ah! could thy power so warm Lucretia's heart, And make the winter there and cold depart ; How wouldst thou bless a wretch, and ease his raging smart!

Couldst thou but make her soul consent with mine, And with her heart her answering hands to join! For thee should Phœbus sing, and all the tuneful Nine.

While I in annual songs thy name would raise,
Thy day should stand above the rest of days,

All lovers bless the Saint! and crown my head with bays!

THOMAS PARNELL.

Born 1679, died 1717.

SONG.

When thy beauty appears
In its graces and airs.

All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky,
At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,
So strangely you dazzle my eye!

But when without art

Your kind thoughts you impart,

When your love runs in blushes through every vein; When it darts in your eyes, when it pants is

your heart,

Then I know you're a woman again.

"There's a passion and pride

"In our sex (she replied),

"And thus (might I gratify both) I would do:
"Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
"But still be a woman to you."

BARTON BOOTH,

Born 1681, died 1733.

SWEET ARE THE CHARMS OF HER I LOVE.

Sweet are the charms of her I love,

More fragrant than the damask rose,

Soft as the down of turtle-dove,

Gentle as air when Zephyr blows, Refreshing as descending rains

To sun-burnt climes, and thirsty plains.

True as the needle to the pole,
Or as the dial to the sun;
Constant as gilding waters roll,

Whose swelling tides obey the moon;

From every other charmer free,

My life and love shall follow thee.

The lamb the flowery thyme devours,
The dam the tender kid pursues;
Sweet Philomel, in shady bowers
Of verdant spring, her note renews;
All follow what they most admire,
As I pursue my soul's desire.

Nature must change her beauteous face,
And vary as the seasons rise;

As winter to the spring gives place,
Summer th' approach of autumn flies :
No change in love the seasons bring,
Love only knows perpetual spring.

Devouring Time, with stealing pace,
Makes lofty oaks and cedars bow;
And marble towers, and gates of brass,
In his rude march he levels low:
But time, destroying far and wide,
Love from the soul can ne'er divide.

Death only with his cruel dart,

The gentle godhead can remove; And drive him from the bleeding heart To mingle with the bless'd above. Where, known to all his kindred train, He finds a lasting rest from pain.

Love, and his sister fair, the soul,

Twin-born, from heaven together came: Love will the universe control,

When dying seasons lose their name; Divine abodes shall own his power When time and death shall be no more.