Part 15

7. Her soft, clear eyes, deep in their tenderness, Reflect all beautiful and kindly things. She would seem infantile, but that her brow In lilied majesty uptowers, and tells That lofty thoughts and chasten'd pride are there.

MRS. GILMAN.

8. Oh, the words Laugh on her lips; the motion of her smiles Showers beauty, as the air-caressed spray The dews of morning; and her stately steps Are light, as though a winged angel trod Over earth's flowers, and fear'd to brush away Their delicate hues.

MILMAN--Fazio.

9. She has ane e'e, she has but ane, The cat has twa the very color; Five rusty teeth forbye a stump, A clapper tongue would deave a miller.

BURNS.

10. She lacks the beauty of a "damask skin," But there are roses lying near at hand, To spring unto her cheek; oft from within They come, called up at feeling's high command, And on the glowing surface long remain.

MRS. M. S. B. DANA.

11. If on her we see display'd Pendent gems, and rich brocade, If her chintz with less expense Flows in easy negligence, If she strikes the vocal strings, If she's silent, speaks, or sings, If she sit, or if she move, Still we love and we approve.

DR. JOHNSON.

12. Her laugh is like a fairy's laugh, So musical and sweet; Her foot is like a fairy's foot, So dainty and so fleet. Her smile is fitful sunshine, Her hand is dimpled snow, Her lip a very rose-bud In sweetness and in glow.

MRS. OSGOOD.

13. A thoughtful and a quiet grace, Though happy still;--yet chance distress Hath left a pensive loveliness; Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams, And her heart broods o'er home-born dreams.

WILSON.

14. Her swollen eyes are much disfigured, And her faire face with tears Is foully blubbered.

SPENSER.

15. A downcast eye, repentant of the pain That its mild light creates.

KEATS.

16. Not fairer grows the lily of the vale, Whose bosom opens to the vernal gale; While health that rises with the new-born day, Breathes o'er her cheek the softest blush of May.

FALCONER--Shipwreck.

17. Fairest where all is beautiful and bright! With what a grace she glides among the flowers That smile around her, bowing at her touch.

GALLAGHER.

18. On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripens;--such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Around her eyes her tresses lay, Which are blackest, none can say; But long lashes veil a light, That had else been all too bright.

HOOD.

19. Ne in her speach, ne in her haviour Is lightnesse seene, or looser vanitie; But gratious womanhood and gravitie, Above the reason of her youthly yeares. Her golden locks she roundly doth uptye, In braided trammels, that ne looser heares Do out of order stray about her daintie eares.

SPENSER.

20. A silver line, that from the brow to the crown, And in the middle, parts the braided hair, Just serves to show how delicate a soil The golden harvest grows in; while those eyes, Soft and capacious as a cloudless sky, Whose azure depth their colour emulates, Must needs be conversant with upward looks, Prayer's voiceless service.

WORDSWORTH.