Then are the charms unfolded to the sight,
Then all is loveliness and all delight;
The nuptial tie succeeds, and genial hour,
And, lo! the falling off of beauty's flower.

Crabbe.

Oh! how refreshing seemed the breathing wind To her faint limbs! and while her snowy hands From her fair brow her golden hair unbind, And of her zone unloose the silken bands, More passing bright unveiled her beauty stands; For faultless was her form as beauty's queen, And every winning grace that love demands, With mild attempered dignity was seen Play o'er each lovely limb, and deck her angel mien. Mrs. Tighe.

The blessings of the skies all went about her;
Health, grace, inimitable beauty. wreathed
Round every motion:-On her lip the rose
Has left its sweetness, (for what bee to kiss?)
And from the darkening heaven of her eyes,
A starry spirit looks out:-Can it be Love?

Who can curiously behold

Procter.

The smoothness and the sheen of beauty's cheek, Nor feel the heart can never all grow cold?-Byron.

As rising on its purple wing

The insect queen of eastern spring,
O'er emerald meadows of Kashmere,
Invites the young pursuer near,

And leads him on from flower to flower,
A weary chase and wasted hour,
Then leaves him, as it soars on high,
With panting heart and tearful eye:
So beauty lures the full-grown child,
With hue as bright and wing as wild;
A chase of idle hopes and fears,
Begun in folly, closed in tears.

Byron.

So coldly sweet, so deadly fair,
We start, for soul is wanting there.
Hers is the loveliness in death,

That parts not quite with parting breath-
But beauty with that fearful bloom,

That hue, which haunts it to the tomb.-Byron.

We gaze and turn away, and know not why,
Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till the heart
Reels with its fullness.

The beautiful is vanished, and returns not.

Oh she has beauty might ensnare

Byron.

Coleridge.

A conqueror's soul, and make him tear his crown At random, to be scuffled for by slaves.

Otway.

Without the smile, from partial beauty won,
Oh, what were man?-a world without a sun!

Beauty with a bloodless conquest finds
A welcome sovereignty in rudest minds.

Beauty,

Campbell.

Waller.

That transitory flower: even while it lasts
Palls on the roving sense, when held too near,
Or dwelling there too long: by fits it pleases;
And smells at distance best; its sweets, familiar
By frequent converse, soon grow dull and cloy you.
Jeffery.

His love is treacherous only whose love dies
With beauty, which is varying every hour,
But on chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

Wordsworth.

O fatal beauty! why art thou bestowed
On hapless woman still to make her wretched!
Betray'd by thee, how many are undone!

H

Patterson.

Beauty! my Lord,-'t is the worst part of woman!
A weak poor thing, assaulted every hour
By creeping minutes of defacing time;

A superficies, which each breath of care
Blasts off, and every humorous stream of grief
Which flows from forth these fountains of our eyes;
Washeth away as rain doth winter's snow. Goffe.

To make the cunning artless, tame the rude,
Subdue the haughty, shake th' undaunted soul;
Yea, put a bridle in the lion's mouth,

And lead him forth as a domestic cur;
These are the triumphs of all-powerful beauty.

Know'st not

Joanna Baillie.

That beauty will take cold? will have the tooth-ache?
Will catch a fever? that its peachy cheek
Will canker in a night? that its sweet lips-
Palace of smiles-spasm doth compel to change
Their garish tenants for uncouth contortions?
That its fair dress of pride-its velvet skin
Humours will spot, discolour? that, in brief,
It is a thing in value vanishing

As fickle merchandise, which rates to-day
Enormously-the next may go a begging?
And, worse than all, that its chief merit lies
In wishing, not possessing?-coveted,

Of purchase measureless-obtained, worth nothing?

Sheridan Knowles.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increaseth, it will never
Pass into nothingness, but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow are we wreathing

A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of th' inhuman dearth
Of noble actions, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves along the pall
From our dark spirits.

Keats.

When I forget that the stars shine in air,
When I forget that beauty is in stars-
Shall I forget thy beauty.

Bailey.

Some souls lose all things but the love of beauty;
And by that love they are redeemable.

For in love and beauty they acknowledge good,
And good is God.

*

**

The beautiful are never desolate,
But some one always loves them.

*

**

Bailey.

What right have you, madam, gazing in your shining mirror daily,

Getting so by heart your beauty, which all others must adore;

While you draw the golden ringlets down your fingers, to vow gaily,

You will wed no man that's only good to God-and nothing more.

Miss Barrett.

When through a chink a darkened room

Admits the solar beam,

Down the long light that breaks the gloom,

Millions of atoms stream.

In sparkling agitations bright,

Alternate dies they bear;

Too small for any sense but sight,

Or any sight, but there.

Nature reveals not all her store

To human search or skill;

And when she deigns to shew us more,

She shews us Beauty still.

Let us not like fools despise

Earth, which is a seat of beauty,

But the love light of our eyes,
Turns unto it as a duty.

Beauty here hath done its mission,
When it guides us to death's portal,

For its presence is a vision

Of a beauty all immortal.

Bishop.

E. H. B.

100

BEAUTY.

Men say gold

Does all, engages all, works through all dangers; But I say beauty can do more. The king's exchequer, Nor all his wealthy Indies, could not draw me Through half these miseries, this piece of pleasure Might make me leap into. We're all like sea-cards,

All our endeavours and our motions,

(As they do to the north,) still point at beauty.

Beaumont and Fletcher.

There's beauty all around our paths,

If but our watchful eyes

Can trace it 'midst familiar things,
And through their lowly guise.

Beautiful, yes! but the blush will fade,

Mrs. Hemans.

The light grow dim which the blue eyes wear;
The gloss will vanish from curl and braid,
And the sunbeam die in the waving hair.
Turn from the mirror, and strive to win
Treasures of loveliness still to last;

Gather earth's glory and bloom within,

That the soul may be bright when youth is past. Mrs. Osgood. Thy glorious beauty was the gift of heavenAs such thou should'st have priz'd it, and have died Ere thou did'st yield it up to mortal touch, Unless thy heart went with it, to make pure And sanctify the offering.

Mrs. Osgood.

The spirit of beauty unfurls her light,
And wheels her course in a joyous flight;
I know her track through the balmy air,
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there;
She leaves the tops of the mountains green,
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.

She mellows the landscape, and crowds the stream, With shadows that flit like a fairy dream;

Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome air, The spirit of beauty is everywhere. Rufus Dawes.