- « _ 
FLOEA’s ALBUM. IQl 
Hose. 
“ Proud be the rose, with rains and dews 
Her head impearling.” — WoKcswoErH. 
BEAUTY. 
I see her now. How more than beautiflil 
She paces yon broad terrace ! The free wind 
Has lifted the soft curls from off her cheek, 
Which yet it crimsons not, — the pure, the pale, — 
Like a young saint. How delicately carved 
The Grecian outline of her face! — but touched 
With a more spiritual beauty, and more meek. 
Her large blue eyes are raised up to the heavens, 
■Whose hues they wear, and seem to grow more clear 
As the heart fills them. There, those parted lips, — 
Prayer could but give such voiceless eloquence, — 
Shining like snow her clasped and earnest hands, — 
She seems a dedicated nun, whose heart 
Is God’s own altar. 
L. B. Landon. 
■Whatsoe’er of Beauty 
Yearns and yet reposes. 
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath. 
Took a shape in roses. 
Leigh Hunt. 
