"Tis not a set of features, or complexion,
The tincture of a skin, that I admire;
Beauty soon grows familiar to the lover,
Fades in his eye, and palls upon the sense.

Addison's Cato.
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.
Pope's Rape of the Lock.
Is she not brighter than a summer's morn,
When all the heav'n is streak'd with dappled fires,
And fleck'd with blushes like a rifled maid?
Lee's Duke of Guise.

O she is all perfections!
All that the blooming earth can send forth fair;
All that the gaudy heavens could drop down
glorious.
Lee's Theodosius.

A lavish planet reign'd when she was born,
And made her of such kindred mould to heav'n,

She seems more heav'n's than ours.

Lee's Edipus.
The bloom of opening flowers' unsullied beauty,
Softness, and sweetest innocence she wears,
And looks like nature in the world's first spring.
Rowe's Tamerlane.

Is she not more than painting can express,
Or youthful poets fancy when they love?

Rowe's Fair Penitent.
O how I grudge the grave this heav'nly form!
Thy beauties will inspire the arms of death,
And warm the pale cold tyrant into life.
Southern's Loyal Brother.
Her grace of motion and of look, the smooth
And swimming majesty of step and tread,
The symmetry of form and feature, set
The soul afloat, even like delicious airs
of flute or harp.

Milman.

What tender force, what dignity divine,
What virtue consecrating every feature!
Around that neck what dross are gold and pearl!
Young's Busiris.

What's female beauty, but an air divine,
Through which the mind's all gentle graces shine?
They, like the sun, irradiate all between;
The body charms, because the soul is seen.
Hence men are often captives of a face,
They know not why, of no peculiar grace:
Some forms, though bright, no mortal man can
bear;

Some, none resist, though not exceeding fair.

Young.

Beauty! thou pretty plaything! dear deceit,
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulse unknown before!
The grave discredits thee: thy charms expung'd,
Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd,

What hast thou more to boast of? will thy lovers
Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage?
Methinks I see thee with thy head laid low;
Whilst surfeited upon thy damask check,
The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,
Riots unscar'd. For this was all thy caution?
For this thy painful labours at thy glass,
T'improve those charms and keep them in repair,
For which the spoiler thanks thee not? Foul
feeder!

Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well,
And leave as keen a relish on the sense.

Blair's Grave.

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.

Joanna Baillie's Basil.
But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart.

Rogers's Italy. Beauty,

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's Edwin

With head upraised, and look intent,

An eye and ear attentive bent,
And locks flung back, and lips apart,
Like monument of Grecian art
In listening mood, she seemed to stand,
The guardian naiad of the strand.

Scott's Lady of the Lake.
The rose, with faint and feeble streak,
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek,
That you had said her hue was pale;
But if she faced the summer-gale,
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved,
Or heard the praise of those she loved,
Or when of interest was expressed
Aught that waked feeling in her breast,
The mantling blood in ready play
Rivalled the blush of rising day.

Scott's Rokeby.

There was a soft and pensive grace,
A cast of thought upon her face,
That suited well the forehead high,
The eye-lash dark, and downcast eye,
The mild expression spoke a mind
In duty firm, composed, resigned.

Scott's Rokeby. Fair all the pageant-but how passing fair The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind! O'er her white bosom stray'd'her hazel hair, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined.

Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel.

Such harmony in motion, speech and air,
That without fairness, she was more than fair.
Crabbe.
Lo! 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 gathered, 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, and 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.
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 scen
Play o'er each lovely limb, and deck her angel
mien.
Mrs. Tighe's Psyche.
Ev'n then her presence had the power
To soothe, to warm,-nay, ev'n to bless-
lr 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.

Moore's Loves of the Angels.

As rising on its purple wing
The insect queen of eastern spring,
J'er emerald meadows of Kashmere,

Invites the young pursuer near,

So bright the tear in beauty's eye
Love half regrets to kiss it dry,
So sweet the blush of bashfulness
Even pity scarce can wish it less.

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

Byron's Bride of Abydos. Her glance, how wildly beautiful! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, 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!
Byron's Childe Harold
Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

An eye's an eye, and whether black or blue,

Is no great matter, so 'tis in request,
'Tis nonsense to dispute about a hue,-
The kindest may be taken as a test.

The fair sex should be always fair; and no man,
Till thirty, should perceive there's a plain woman.
Byron's Don Juan.

She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew—
As seeking not to know it; silent, lone,
As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew,
And kept her heart serene within its zone.
There was awe in the homage which she drew,
Her spirit seem'd as seated on a throne
Apart from the surrounding world, and strong
In its own strength—most strange in one so
young.
Byron's Don Juan.

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

Byron.

The beautiful is vanish'd, and returns not.

Coleridge.

There's beauty all around our paths,

If but our watchful eyes

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

True beauty never was defin'dAnd features painted to the mind Are perfect only to the blind,

Bailey's Festus.