'Tis that beauty alone which imperfectly charms, For though brightness may dazzle, 'tis kindness which

warms;

As on stars, in the winter, with pleasure we gaze,

But feel not their warmth, though their splendour we praise;

So beauty one just admiration may claim,

But love, and love only, the heart can inflame.

BEAUTY AND THE BEE.

From a Spanish Madrigal.

BY DAVID GARRICK.

For me, my fair a wreath has wove,
Where rival flowers in union meet:

As oft she kiss'd the gift of love,

Her breath gave sweetness to the sweet.

A bee within a damask rose

Had crept, the nectar'd dew to sip,
But lesser sweets the thief foregoes,
And fixes on Louisa's lip.

There, tasting all the bloom of spring,
Wak'd by the ripening breath of May,

Th' ungrateful spoiler left his sting,
And with the honey flew away.

CANZONET.

BY ANTONI VENEZIANU.

I dreamt, my fair, that you and I
Were dead, and doom'd to lasting pain;
I for my love that soar'd so high,
Thou punish'd for thy cold disdain.
But when thou met'st me all in woe,
It chang❜d to joy thy hapless lot;
And when that lovely face I saw,
The pains of hell were all forgot.

THE PERFECTION.

TO THE first DUCHESS OF GORDON.

We all to conquering beauty bow,
Its pleasing power admire ;
But I ne'er saw a face till now,
That could like your's inspire.

Now I may say, I've met with one
Amazes all mankind;

And, like men gazing on the sun,

With too much light am blind.

Soft as the tender moving sighs,
When longing lovers meet;
Like the dreaming prophets, wise;
Like new-blown roses, sweet:

Modest, yet gay; reserv'd, yet free;
Each happy night a bride;
A mien like awful majesty,
And yet no spark of pride.

The patriarch, to gain a wife,
Chaste, beautiful, and young,
Serv'd fourteen years a painful life,
And never thought it long.

Ah! were you to reward such cares,
And life so long could stay,

Not fourteen, but four hundred years,
Would seem but as one day.

PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN.

Now see my Goddess, earthly born,
With smiling looks and sparkling eyes,
And with a bloom that shames the morn
New risen in the eastern skies.

Furnish'd from nature's boundless store,
And one of pleasure's laughing train,
Stranger to all the wise explore,

She proves all far-sought knowledge vain

Untaught as Venus, when she found

Herself first floating on the sea;

And, laughing, lugg'd the Tritons round,
For shame to look some other way.

And unaccomplish'd all as Eve,

In the first morning of her life, When Adam blush'd, and ask'd her leave To take her hand, and call her wife.

And yet there's something in her face,
Though she's unread in Plato's lore,
Might bring your Plato to disgrace
For leaving precepts taught before.

And there is magic in her eye,

(Though she's unskill'd to conjure down The pale moon from the affrighted sky,) Might draw Endymion from the moon.

And there are words which she can speak,
More easy to be understood,

More sweet than all the heathen Greek,
By Helen talk'd when Paris woo'd.

And she has raptures in her power,
More worth than all the flattering claim

Of learning's unsubstantial dower,

In present praise or future fame.

Let me but kiss her soft, warm hand,
And let me whisper in her ear,
What knowledge would not understand,
And wisdom would disdain to hear;

And let her listen to my tale,

And let one smiling blush arise,

(Blest omen that my vows prevail !)
I'll scorn the scorn of all the wise.

TO ARABELLA.

BY HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Oh that I were the fragrant flower that kisses My Arabella's breast, that heaves on high! Pleased should I be to taste the transient blisses, And on the melting throne to faint and die!

Oh that I were the robe that loosely covers
Her taper limbs of form divine;

Or the entwisted zones, like meeting lovers,

That clasp her waist in many an aëry twine!

Oh that my soul might take its lasting station

In her waved hair, her perfumed breath to sip; Or catch, by chance, her blue eyes' fascination, Or meet, by stealth, her soft vermillion lip!

But, chain'd to this dull being, I must ever

Lament the doom by which I'm hither placed; Must pant for moments I must meet with never, And dream of beauties I must never taste!