48. When first you look upon her face, You little note, beside The timidness, that still betrays The beauties it would hide; But, one by one, they look out from Her blushes and her eyes, And still the last the loveliest, Like stars from twilight skies. GEORGE HILL. 49. Endearing! endearing! Why so endearing Are those dark lustrous eyes, Through their silk fringe peering? They love thee! they love thee! Deeply, sincerely; And more than aught else on earth, Thou lov'st them dearly. MOTHERWELL. 50. In face an angel, but in soul a cat! DR. WOLCOTT--_Peter Pindar_. 51. Her feet beat witchcraft as she heads the dance, Lads, like a garland, hem her round about, While Love rains on them from her dark eye-glance. The maidens near her, tittering, take their stance, And on her swan-white neck, and snowy arms, Her small and nimble feet, they look askance; The hoary fiddler, as he listens, warms, And draws a lustier bow, and gazes on her charms. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 52. A cheek, fair And delicate as rose-leaf newly blown-- A brow like marble--lofty, and profuse With the rich brown of her o'ergathering hair. W. G. SIMMS. 53. Such her beauty, as no arts Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood, She is noblest, being good. HABINGTON. 54. O'er her features steal, serenely mild, The trembling sanctity of woman's truth, Her modesty, and simpleness, and grace; Yet those who deeper scan the human face, Amid the trial-hour of fear or ruth, May clearly read, upon its heaven-writ scroll, That high and firm resolve, which nerved the Roman soul. MRS. SIGOURNEY. 55. On her forehead sitteth pride, Crown'd with scorn, and falcon-eyed; But she beneath, methinks, doth twine Silken smiles, that seem divine. Can such smiles be false and cold? Can she, will she wed for gold? BARRY CORNWALL. 56. Oh! her beauty is fair to see, But still and steadfast is her e'e, And the soft desire of maiden's e'en, In that mild face can never be seen. Her seymat is the lily flower, And her cheek the moss-rose in a shower, And her voice, like the distant melody That floats along the twilight sea. But she lo'es to raike the lonely glen, And keep afar frae the haunts o' men. HOGG--_Queen's Wake_. 57. 'Tis not her eye or lip we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.