Classic Poem

Not hers the charms which Laura's lover drew,
Or Titian's pencil on the canvas threw;
No soul enkindled beneath southern skies
Glow'd on her cheek and sparkled in her eyes;
No prurient charms set off her slender form
With swell voluptuous and with contour warm;
While each proportion was by Nature told
In maiden beauty's most bewitching mould.
High on her peerless brow — a radiant throne
Unmix'd with aught of earth — pale genius sat alone.
And yet at times within her eye there dwelt
Softness that would the sternest bosom melt,
A depth of tenderness which show'd, when woke,
That woman there as well as angel spoke.
Yet well that eye could flash resentment's rays,
Or, proudly scornful, check the boldest gaze;
Chill burning passion with a calm disdain,
Or with one glance rekindle it again.
Her mouth — oh! never fascination met
Near woman's lips half so alluring yet;
For round her mouth there play'd, at times, a smile,
Such as did man from Paradise beguile;
Such, could it light him through this world of pain,
As he'd not barter Eden to regain.
What though that smile might beam alike on all;
What though that glance on each as kindly fall;
What though you knew, while worshipping their power,
Your homage but the pastime of the hour?
Still they, however guarded were the heart,
Would every feeling from its fastness start —
Deceive one still, howe'er deceived before,
And make him wish thus to be cheated more,
Till, grown at last in such illusions gray,
Faith follow'd Hope, and stole with Love away.
Such was Alinda; such in her combined
Those charms which round our very nature wind;
Which, when together they in one conspire,
He who admires must love — who sees, admire.
Variably perilous; upon the sight
Now beam'd her beauty in resistless light,
And subtly now into the heart it stole,
And, ere it startled, occupied the whole.
'Twas well for her, that lovely mischief, well,
That she could not the pangs it waken'd tell;
That, like the princess in the fairy tale,
No soft emotions could her soul assail;
For Nature, — that Alinda should not feel
The wounds her eyes might make, but never heal, —
In mercy, while she did each gift impart
Of rarest excellence, withheld a heart!