On Beauty. Palmerston

Enchanting nymph of heav'nly birth, Celestial beauty sent on earth, To soothe our cares, our toils, our strife, And gild the gloom, that saddens life— Thine empire countless millions own, And ev'ry clime reveres thy throne. Whate'er pursuits mankind engage, From frolic youth to serious age, To thy resistless pow'r they bow, Whilst nature prompts the artless vow. Lur'd by the hopes thy smiles can give, For thee the wretch endures to live. To gain thy praise, his valour's meed, For thee the hero dares to bleed. Entic'd by thee to happier dreams, Ambition drops his airy schemes. To purchase thee, from caverns deep, The miser brings his treasur'd heap. The sage, with Reason's boasted arms, A while may combat Beauty's charms; But soon a bursting sigh will prove, That Reason never conquers Love. Yet ere I bow before thy shrine, And hail thy pow'r with rites divine, O, blest enchantress, deign to tell, In what consists thy magic spell! Is it an eye, whose sparkling rays Eclipse the diamond's fainter blaze; A cheek, that shames the vernal rose, A breast, that vies with mountain snows; A mouth, that smiles with matchless grace, Like pearls within a ruby cafe; A shape, like that which once was seen On Ida, when the Cyprian queen Disclos'd her charms to mortal eyes, Contending for the golden prize; These may our warmest passions fire, And kindle every fierce desire: But Love, upheld by these alone, Must soon resign his tott'ring throne, And hold a poor precarious sway, The short-liv'd beauty of a day. Or e'en to form a nymph complete, If all the various charms could meet, Which each divided bosom warm, And ev'ry throbbing pulse alarm, When Johnson, Meynell, Pitt advance, And Wroughton joins the sprightly dance, And lovely Spencer, mild and fair, Comes blushing forth with Hebe's air; Yet these were vain, unless to these Were join'd the secret pow'r to please; That nameless something, undefin'd, That soft effusion of the mind, Which sweetly smiles in ev'ry face, To ev'ry motion lends a grace; And, when their beauty points a dart, Impels and guides it to the heart. In vain the stealing hand of Time May pluck the blossoms of their prime. Envy may talk of bloom decay'd, How lilies droop, and roses fade; But Constancy's unalter'd truth, Regardful of the vows of youth, Affection, that recals the past, And bids the pleasing influence last, Shall still preserve the lover's flame, In ev'ry scene of life the same; And still with fond endearments blend The wife, the mistress, and the friend.