Within whose face Beauty and Virtue strived
Which of them both should underprop her Fame:
When Virtue bragg'd Beauty would blush for Shame;
When Beauty boasted Blushes, in despite

Virtue would stain that o'er with Silver White.

But Beauty, in that White intituled,

From Venus' Doves doth challenge that fair field;
Then Virtue claims from Beauty Beauty's Red,
Which Virtue gave the Golden Age to gild

Their Silver Cheeks, and call'd it then their shield;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight,—

When Shame assail'd, the Red should fence the White.

Beauty. - Milton.

EAUTY is Nature's Coin, must not be hoarded,

Consists in mutual and partaken Bliss,
Unsavoury in th' enjoyment of itself:
If you let slip Time, like a neglected rose,
It withers on the stalk with languish'd head.

Beauty. — Byron.

HER Chance bus wou'd in vain to spoil her Cheek,

ER Glance how wildly beautiful! how much

Which glows yet smoother from his amorous clutch!
Who round the North for paler dames would seek?
How
poor their forms appear! how languid, wan, and weak!
Beauty. Spenser.

E tradeful Merchants; that with weary toil

Yo seek most precious things to make your gain;

And both the Indias of their treasure spoil,
What needeth you to seek so far in vain?
For lo! my Love doth in herself contain
All this World's Riches that may far be found;

If Saphyrs, lo! her Eyes be Saphyrs plain;

If Rubies, lo! her Lips be Rubies sound;

If Pearls, her Teeth be Pearls, both pure and round;

If Ivory, her Forehead Ivory ween;

If Gold, her Locks are finest Gold on Grourd;
If Silver, her fair Hands are Silver Sheen:
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her Mind, adorned with Vertues manifold.

O! when the Buds expand the Leaves are green,
Then the first opening of the Flower is seen;
Then come the honied breath and rosy smile,
That with their sweets the willing sense beguile;
But as we look, and love, and taste, and praise,
And the Fruit grows, the charming Flower decays;
Till all is gather'd, and the wintry blast
Moans o'er the place of love and pleasure past.

So 'tis with Beauty,-such the opening grace
And dawn of glory in the youthful face;
Then are the charms unfolded to the sight,
Then all is loveliness and all delight;
The nuptial tie succeeds, the genial hour,
And, lo! the falling off of Beauty's flower;
So through all Nature is the progress made,-

The Bud, the Bloom, the Fruit,-and then we fade.

FOR Beauty is the bait which with delight

Doth Man allure, for to enlarge his kind; Beauty, the burning lamp of Heaven's light, Darting her beams into each feeble Mind, Against whose power nor God nor Man can find Defence, reward the danger of the wound; But being hurt, seek to be medicin'd

Of her that first did stir that mortal stownd.

Beauty. — Byron.

HEART on her Lips, and Soul within her Eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

Beauty.

Spenser.

OR sure of all that in this mortal frame

FOR

Contained is, nought more Divine doth seem, Or that resembleth more th' immortal flame Of heavenly light, than Beauty's glorious beam. What wonder then it with such rage extreme Frail men, whose eyes seek heavenly things to see, At sight thereof so much enravish'd be ?

THAT whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.

Beauty. — Mrs. Tighe.

OT! and while her snowy hands

how refreshing seemed the breathing wind

From her fair brow her golden hair unbind,
And of her zone unloose the silken bands,
More passing bright unveil'd her Beauty stands;
For faultless was her Form as Beauty's Queen,
And every winning grace that Love demands,
With wild attempered dignity was seen

Play o'er each lovely limb, and deck her angel mien.

The nameless Charms unmark'd by her alone;
The Light of Love, the Purity of Grace,
The Mind, the Music breathing from her Face,
The Heart whose softness harmonized the whole,
And, oh! that Eye was in itself a Soul!

THERE

Beauty. - Scott.

was a soft and pensive Grace,

A cast of thought upon her Face,

That suited well the Forehead high,
The Eye-lash dark, and down-cast Eye;
The mild Expression spoke a mind
In duty firm, compos'd, resign'd.

EVERY Spirit as it is most pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light.
So it the fairer Body doth procure

To habit in

For of the Soul the Body form doth take,
For Soul is form, and doth the Body make.
Beauty. Shakespeare.

"Is Beauty truly blent, whose red and white

Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:

Lady, you are the cruell'st She alive,

If you will lead these graces to the grave,

And leave the world no copy.

HE was a Form of Life and Light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose, where'er I turned mine eye,
The Morning-star of Memory!

Beauty. Shakespeare.

My Beauty, though but mean,

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise;
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues.
Beauty. Moore.

W Her dream of home, steals timidly away,

THILE she, who sang so gently to the lute

Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray,

But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh
We sometimes give to forms that pass us by
In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain,
Creatures of light we never see again!

UT Virtue's self, with all her tightest laces,

B Hay not the natural stays of strict old age;
And Socrates, that model of all duty,

Own'd to a penchant, though discreet, for Beauty.

If ever bliss could graft its flower

On stem so full of bitterness

Ev'n then her glorious Smile to me

Brought warmth and radiance, if not balm,

Like Moonlight on a troubled sea,

Brightening the storm it cannot calm.

Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love
Hung over her enamour'd, and beheld

Beauty, which whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces.

Beauty. Shakespeare.

YINCE brass nor stone, nor earth nor boundless sea,

But sad Mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall Beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall Summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O, fearful Meditation! where, alack,

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of Beauty can forbid ?

YET graceful Ease, and Sweetness void of Pride,

Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide :

If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her Face, and you'll forget 'em all.

Beauty. Shakespeare.

MOVE these Eyes?

Or whether riding on the balls of mine,

Seem they in motion? Here are sever'd Lips,
Parted with sugar breath; so sweet a bar

Should sunder such sweet friends: Here in her Hairs
The painter plays the spider; and hath woven

A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men,
Faster than gnats in cobwebs: but her Eyes,-
How could he see to do them? having made one,
Methinks it should have power to steal both his,
And leave itself unfinish'd.

Beauty. Shakespeare.

SHE doth teach the torches to burn bright!

O'Her beauty hangs upon the check of Night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear:

Beauty too rich for use, for Earth too dear.