Now Laura moves along the joyous crowd,
      Smiles in her eyes, and simpers on her lips;
    To some she whispers, others speaks aloud;
      To some she curtsies, and to some she dips;
    Complains of warmth, and this complaint avow’d,
      Her lover brings the lemonade,—­she sips: 
    She then surveys, condemns, but pities still
    Her dearest friends for being drest so ill. 
    One had false curls, another too much paint,
      A third—­where did she buy that frightful turban? 
    A fourth’s so pale she fears she’s going to faint,
      A fifth’s look’s vulgar, dowdyish, and suburban,
    A sixth’s white silk has got a yellow tint,
      A seventh’s thin muslin surely will be her bane,
    And lo! an eighth appears,—­I’ll see no more! 
    For fear, like Banquo’s kings, they reach a score.

      Beppo.

    She was blooming still, had made the best
      Of time, and time return’d the compliment,
    And treated her genteely, so that, drest,
      She look’d extremely well where’er she went;
    A pretty woman is a welcome guest,
      And her brow a frown had rarely bent;
    Indeed she shone all smiles, and seem’d to flatter
    Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her.

      Beppo.

    I think, with all due deference
      To the fair single part of the creation,
    That married ladies should preserve the preference
      In tete-a-tete or general conversation—­
    Because they know the world, and are at ease,
    And being natural, naturally please.

      Beppo.

    She walks in beauty, like the night
      Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
    And all that’s best of dark and bright
      Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
    Thus mellow’d to that tender light
      Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

    One shade the more, one ray the less,
      Had half impair’d the nameless grace
    Which waves in every raven tress,
      Or softly lightens o’er her face;
    Where thoughts serenely sweet express
      How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

    And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
      So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
    The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
      But tell of days in goodness spent,
    A mind at peace with all below,
      A heart whose love is innocent!

      Hebrew Melodies.

    I saw thee weep—­the big bright tear
      Came o’er that eye of blue: 
    And then methought it did appear
      A violet dropping dew;
    I saw thee smile—­the sapphire’s blaze
      Beside thee ceased to shine,
    It could not match the living rays
      That fill’d that glance of thine.