2

Di matutina rosa;

E più molle, e più candida, del cigno.1

Two days before his death, Dr. Franklin said to his daughter, "My dear, I do not recollect that, in the course of thy whole life, I was ever for a single moment angry with thee." 3

Moria pur quando vuol, non e bisogna mutar ni faccia, ni voce, per esser un angelo.

Who hath not felt how feebly words essay
To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray?
Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faint into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess,
The might -the majesty of loveliness? 4

That patent work of God's invention—a charming woman."

Belle femme, le plus bel ornement du monde entier; le ciel l'a créé dans un moment de magnificence.6

I think you have heard me mention

a credit to the maker of angels.'

as

You cannot mistake her; for, when she was

formed, nature broke the mould.8

She only wants wings to be an angel."

Move those eyes;

Or whether, riding on the balls of mine,

Seem they in motion?

1 Pastor Fido.

10

2 Mrs. Bach.

5 Ibid.

3 New Monthly No. 75.

4 Byron.

7 Pope.

6 Hélène de Tournon. (Madame de Souza.) 8 The Heiress. 9 Skelton.

10 Merchant of Venice, act iii. sc. 2.

G

They,

Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse,

Though it be mute and soundless.1

Where is any author in the world

Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye??—

That eye which tells us what

The sun is made of.3

With her look so sweet, and her eyes so fair,
And her graceful step, and her angel air.*

Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies."

Her heart was one of those which most enamour us,
Wax to receive, and marble to retain."

She spoke in tones

So sweet, and of such pensive gentleness,
That the heart heard them.7

Tones which

Can" sink each sad remembrance to oblivion, "Or melt them to such tenderness of feeling, "That grief shall have its sweetness.” 8

Her voice was "stolen from heaven."9

This hand,

As soft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.1°

Her hand,

In whose comparison all whites are ink,

Writing their own reproach; - to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harsh, and spirit of sense

Hard as the palm of ploughman.'

O bella man! chi mi distringi il core.2

Manos blancas non ofenden.

Je vis d'un clair crystal sa paupière arrosée.3

The fresh tears

Stood on her cheek, as doth the honey dew
Upon a gathered lily almost withered.*

There is a tradition that Lord Cassilis's lady had so delicate and pure a skin, that the red wine could be seen through it while she was drinking.5

Un beau visage est le plus beau de tous les spectacles; et l'harmonie la plus douce est le son de la voix de celle que l'on aime.

The most simple word becomes music when she utters it.

Il y a dans le cœur d'une femme tant de timidité réunie à l'impetuosité des sentimens, qu'un rien peut la retenir, comme un rien peut l'entrainer."

Full many a lady

I have eyed with best regard; and many a time
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage
Brought my too diligent ear; for several virtues
Have I liked several women; never any

1 Troilus and Cressida.

4 Shakspeare.

5 Preface to Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song.

With such full soul, but some defect in her,
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she ow'd,
And put it to the foil. But you, oh you,
So perfect and so peerless, are created
Of every creature's best.1

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 unfurnished.2

Her eye's dark charm 'twere vain to tell,

But gaze on that of the gazelle :

It will assist thy fancy well;
As large, as languishingly dark;

But soul breathed forth in every spark
That darted from beneath the lid,

Bright as the jewel of Giamschid.3

Ses yeux s'élevoient au ciel avec tant de ferveur, que je croyois voir un ange: Ah! je pense que le Dieu ne peut lui rien refuser.

Son regard eut amolli le marbre.

Oh! what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the bright orb of one particular tear.1

Her eye (I'm very fond of handsome eyes)

Was large and dark, suppressing half its fire, Until she spake; then, through its soft disguise,

Flash'd an expression, more of pride than ire,

1 Tempest. 3 Byron.

2 Merchant of Venice, act iii. sc. 2.

4 Shakspeare (Lover's Complaint).

And love than either, and there would arise

A something in them which was not desire, But would have been, perhaps, but for the soul Which struggled there, and chastened down the whole.'

Thinner she might have been, and yet scarce lose;
Yet, after all, 'twould puzzle to say where

It would not spoil some separate charm to pare;
Being somewhat large, and indolent, and lazy ;
But of a beauty that would drive you crazy.2

'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on:
Lady, you are the cruel'st she alive,

If you will lead those graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.3

Those lids o'er which the violet vein

Wandering leaves a tender stain,

Shining through the smoothest white
That e'er did softest kiss invite.4

She was a landscape of mild earth,

Where all was harmony, and calm, and quiet, Luxuriant, budding, cheerful without mirth, Which, if not happiness, is much more nigh it, Than are your mighty passions, and so forth,

Which some call "the sublime," -I wish they'd try it. I've seen your stormy skies, and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen."

How perfect was her taste! how exquisitely fine her feelings! She observed every thing, even to the slightest turn of the thought. I had only to

1 Byron.
4 Byron.

2 Idem.
5 Idem.

3 Twelfth Night.