The Rhode Island Republican

POETRY

From the Port Folio.

TRUE BEAUTY.

'Tis not the auburn lock of hair
That plays in ringlets round the fair;
'Tis not her cheek o'erspread with smiles;
'Tis not her voice which care beguiles;
'Tis not her lips with roses dress'd,
Where vagrant bees would fondly rest;
'Tis not her blue eyes' thrilling glance,
'Tis not her feet that tread the dance;
'Tis not the grace with which they move,
That warms my heart with ardent love.

But 'tis her finely polish'd mind,
By Virtue's rarest rules refin'd;
Like Hesper at the eve of day,
When Sol emits the latest ray:
Modest and meek, without pretence
To other charms than charms of sense—
To charms which shine when beauty fades,
And wrinkled age the form invades;—
To these a lovely maid aspires,
And these awake my bosom's fires:
For they can warm my throbbing heart,
Without the aid of fancy's art.

When time uplifts his palsying hand,
And strikes the visage with his wand:
When cheeks no more with ardour glow,
And silver'd curls resemble snow;
When eyes have lost their humid lustre,
And lips have chang'd their roseate hue,
Ah! then how weak is Beauty's power,
To charm the slowly passing hour.

SEDLEY.