And, thus beheld, they were far more endearing,
So large! so full of soul! so shrewd,
Her mouth was small, and beautiful, and wearing,
Like her fine brow, the impress of much mind.
Its only fault, it made her look too knowing,
Too much experienc'd for a girl that 's growing.`
pass her nose and teeth, which were not good; The first too short and thick, the latter common. Her hair was nearly black, and shone as should, When clean, that chiefest ornament of woman. Her cheek not fair, but through it the rich blood Ran visible, nor stay'd for aught to summon
Its current for a moment there, then vanish,
But glow'd in one bright spot, which nought could banish.
So looks, when ripe, the sun-dy'd apricot,
So glows the twilight of a southern clime.
BIANCA's moral traits I pass them not,
But only keep them for a happier time.
Yet must I name one vice the maid had got,
Not very rare for beauties in their prime;
Her voice, though polish'd as became her station,
Was spoil'd, in some degree, by affectation.
The princesses, besides this merry lady,
Had with them too their travelling physician,
Three seasons of whose life had pass'd already,
Yet left him ruddy, and in good condition;
Courteous, urbane, and of a mien most steady,
A novel-reader, and a good musician.
A chevalier he was, hatch'd in COLONNA (1),
And wore the riband of the cross of honor.
The second group in persons number'd seven :
An English couple, out upon their tour;
Three little boys, the eldest, say eleven;
A lovely girl, of sixteen years or more,
With eyes far bluer than her native heaven,
Blue as our own when ether is most pure;
And last, that with this group unites, yet clashes,
A Prussian nobleman with white mustashes.
The marry'd pair, and parents of the boys,
Were such as you may meet in every crowd;
The father gross, and loving jokes and noise,
Vulgar in soul and body, coarse, and loud,
Affecting wisdom, yet engross'd by toys,
Unletter'd, dull, but of his parts so proud,
You could not start a theme but started too
His tongue to teach you all its master knew.
(1) In the Campagna, near RoмE, and therefore a subject of the Pope's.
His vanity so little, yet so vast,
It grasp'd at all things, and found nothing vile.
Hence rogues
their hackney made of him, and cast
Such burdens on him as made others smile.
The record of his offices would last
Too long by far, and not be worth my while.
He was, besides being preacher of sobriety,
Historian to a Sabbath School Society.
He gather'd, too, subscriptions for the oppress'd
Black people in the land that once was BRITAIN'S,
And sundry knicknacks for poor women bless'd
With frequent calls for socks and children's mittens ;
He taught a cure for bites of dogs, and guess'd
The same would heal old scratches made by kittens ;
He wrote a Wordsworth-ballad too, a wonder,
To show that HEROD was afraid of thunder.
In the last Exhibition of Design (1)
One ass's head, 'mong others, caught my eye, ——
So like in visage to this man of mine,
I could have sworn that PEBBLE's self was by:
(1) The yearly Exhibition of the National Academy of Design, in NEW YORK. The stanza was written in the summer of 1839.
A brow which I should rail to call divine,
Blue eyes stark-mad, and staring at the sky:
An old Narcissus, in poetic rage,
It seem'd, and was well-color'd, done by P-E.
It had too PEBBLE's nose, turn'd up in scorn,
And PEBBLE's mouth, and PEBBLE's snuff-brown suit, A broach in breast, as PEBBLE might have worn,
pen But this was comely, and, though gentle-born, PEBBLE in mien was something of a brute.
in hand, as Dante holds a lute.
But P-E can flatter; and the fool that paid him
May be a dirtier fellow than he 's made him.
Howe'er, my copy of this bard in brown
Was quite an ass, and took much pains to show it.
No wonder then his lady, bred in town,
Appear'd, by certain overt acts, to know it.
She had been lovely; but, when youth is flown,
Love drops his blind, as needs to sing no poet;
And Mrs. PEBBLE, being no more green,
Made up in flesh and blood for grace of mien.
Yet was she handsome. Few at thirty-four
Had features that could easier wake desire.
Her large blue sleepy eyes at will could pour
A flood of light that set your brain on fire ;
Her small red pouting lip for ever wore
A look that said, Come, press me till you tire.
She might have sat to sculptors for Jove's sister,
As when IXION kiss'd, or would have kiss'd her.
And yet it would have puzzled all their hive
To give her cheek's soft skin and pure carnation;
Beauties which in an English dame survive
Longer than with the women of our nation.
He might have done it, he (1), who keeps alive
CUPID'S mama in such a situation,
I mean in FLORENCE, where she 's seen, quite shocking, Without a shawl, or shift, or drawers, or stocking!
The power of Virtue governs even the vile,
At distance reverenc'd, if approach'd not near.
E'en rakes would turn from Mrs. PEBBLE'S smile
And Juno eyes, to gaze upon the clear
Pure forehead, and the orbs where shone no guile,
And lips, of her young sister, CONSTANCE VERE;
Who was the maid, "of sixteen years or more,"
I've mention'd in a stanza sung before.
(1) TITIAN. The allusion is to the two paintings in the Tribune.
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