And ye who bask in beauty's blaze, Enlivening as the orient rays From fair Aurora's brow, Or those which from her crescent shine, When Cynthia with a look benign, Regards the world below— Say, why, amidst the vernal throng, Whose virgin charms inspired your song With sweet poetic lore, With eager look th' enraptured swain, For Isidora's form in vain, The picture should explore. Shall sprightly Isidora yield, To Laura the distinguished field, Amidst the vernal throng? Or shall Aspasia's frolic lays From Leonella snatch the bays, The tribute of the song? Like hers I ween the blushing rose, On Sylvia's polished cheek that glows, And hers the velvet lip, To which the cherry yields its hue, Its plumpness and ambrosial dew Which even Gods might sip. What partial eye a charm can find, In Delia's look, or Delia's mind, Or Delia's melting grace, Which cannot in Miranda's mien, Or winning smile or brow serene, A rival beauty trace? Sweet as the balmy breath of spring, Or odors from the painted wing Of Zephyr as he flies, Brunetta's charms might surely claim, Amidst the votaries of fame, A title to the prize. What giddy raptures fill the brain, When tripping o'er the verdant plain, Florella joins the throng! Her look each throbbing pain beguiles, Beneath her footsteps Nature smiles, And joins the poet's song. Here even critic Spleen shall find, Each beauty that adorns the mind, Or decks the virgin's brow; Here Envy with her venomed dart, Shall find no vulnerable part, To aim the deadly blow. Could such perfection nought avail? Or could the fair Belinda fail To animate your lays? For might not such a nymph inspire With sportive notes the trembling lyre Attuned to virgin praise? The sister graces met the maid, Beneath the myrtle's fragrant shade, When love the season warms; Deluded by her graceful mien, They fancied her the Cyprian queen, And decked her with their charms. {471} Say then why thus with heedless flight, The panegyric muse should slight A train so blythe and fair, Or why so soon fatigued, she flies No longer in her native skies, But tumbles through the air. BRITISH PARLIAMENT IN 1835. NO. I. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.[1] [Footnote 1: Translated from a number of the _Revue des Deux Mondes_.] The chambers in which the British Parliament are accustomed to assemble, have nothing of the theatrical aspect of the halls for political exhibition built in France for the representations of its representative government.