VENUS AND THE MODERN BELLE.

———

BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.

———

Young Beauty looked over her gems one night,

And stole to her glass, with a petulant air:

She braided her hair, with their burning light,

Till they played like the gleam of a glowworm there.

Then she folded, over her form of grace,

A costly robe from an Indian loom

But a cloud overshadowed her exquisite face,

And Love’s sunny dimple was hid in the gloom.

“It is useless!” she murmured,—“my jewels have lost

All their lustre, since last they illumined my curls!”

And she snatched off the treasures, and haughtily tost,

Into brilliant confusion, gold, rubies and pearls.

Young Beauty was plainly provoked to a passion;

“And what?” she exclaimed, “shall the star of the ball

Be seen by the beaux, in a gown of this fashion?”⁠—

Away went the robe,—ribbons, laces and all!

“Oh! Paphian goddess!” she sighed in despair,

“Could I borrow that mystic and magical zone,

Which Juno of old condescended to wear,

And which lent her a witchery sweet as your own!”⁠—

She said and she started; for lo! in the glass,

Beside her a shape of rich loveliness came!

She turned,—it was Venus herself! and the lass

Stood blushing before her, in silence and shame.

“Fair girl!” said the goddess—“the girdle you seek,

Is one you can summon at once, if you will;

It will wake the soft dimple and bloom of your cheek,

And, with peerless enchantment, your flashing eyes, fill.

“No gem in your casket such lustre can lend,

No silk wrought in silver, such beauty, bestow,

With that talisman heed not, tho’ simply, my friend,

Your robe and your ringlets unjewelled may flow!”

“Oh! tell it me! give it me!”—Beauty exclaimed,⁠—

As Hope’s happy smile, to her rosy mouth, stole,⁠—

“Nay! you wear it e’en now, since your temper is tamed,

’Tis the light of Good Humour,—that gem of the soul.”