No goddess born in blue-eyed Juno’s reign,
Or fair-haired sister of Apollo’s train—
No coy and quivered Driad of the woods,
Or laughing Naiad of the dashing floods—
Do I invoke;—ye fabled forms—retire!
Let breathing loveliness my notes inspire:—
To thee, my cherished friend! the strains belong,
And LIVING BEAUTY animates my song.
This magic spell that mirrors every grace
Of woman’s heart, in lovely woman’s face;
This speaking index of the polished mind,
In virtue pure, by virgin truth refined;—
Is love’s own banner, gracefully unfurled,
To fix affection, and enchant the world.
Without its aid, how hard were woman’s lot!
To sigh neglected, and to die forgot;
Though nature’s genial fires unceasing burn,
To live unloved, and love without return!
For well we know that all of human kind,
Read in the face the features of the mind;
The soul’s bright forms forever fresh and fair,
Wit, worth, and modesty, are pictured there.
Say not—perverted taste alone descries
An intellectual light in radiant eyes;
Nor think Lavater’s favorite science vain,
That guides the choice of every rural swain,
In search of worthy love:—for well he knows,
That when the graceful meadow-lily blows,
’Tis genial spring; and when the mantling vine,
Round the gray oak its wreaths is seen to twine,
Laden with purple fruit—that summer’s showers
Have nursed to life the verdure and the flowers.
So, in the features of Myrtilla’s face,
The rustic Corydon has learned to trace
Each soft affection of her glowing mind;
With what delighted and to whom inclined.
You say, perchance, “Is woman then approved
For outward charms, and but for these beloved?
Shall form and feature for all faults atone,
And mere external beauty reign alone?
By reasoning man is mental worth despised,
And but for pageantry is woman prized?”
’Tis well inquired; but mark the just reply:—
As glittering stars adorn the cloudless sky,
And smiling rainbows, when the storm is done,
Announce the bursting splendors of the sun;
So beams of lambent light that sportive play
In woman’s face, proclaim interior day;
And modest sweetness, with that light combined,
Bespeaks her nature gentle and refined.
Thus, too, the cherub graces that adorn
The smiling babe in childhood’s sunny morn,
Reveal the pureness of that virtue given,
The charm of earth and miniature of heaven.
Nor less does manhood’s firmer brow disclose
The master passion whence his action flows.
If glory, lucre, love, his heart inspire,
See in his lineaments the raging fire;
If war impel, behold him charge the foe,
His eyes’ red lightning mingling with the blow;
In search of gold, see meanness in his air,
And Gripus’ sordid wrinkles furrowed there:—
Or, fired with love, survey his altered mien;
Fair vernal blossoms decorate the scene,
From every flower the honeyed sweet he sips,
And burning eloquence is on his lips.
In times of old, those happier golden years,
Ere man had learned to drink the orphan’s tears
And widow’s sighs, and count them richest wine,
What beauty decked the “human face divine!”
Then all was loveliness:—the ruling soul
Held o’er the world, unlimited control;
The forest knew no monster; and the grove
No voice but that of melody and love;—
While man acknowledged virtue as his guide,
The lamb and lion slumbered at his side;
’Twas then, nor thorn nor thistle cursed the soil,
But plenty crowned the gatherer’s pleasing toil,
Nor plague nor tempest in such skies appear,
But health and sunshine circle round the year.
And who can tell, when virtue soars away
To range the fields of unexpiring day,
Where Love unveils her charms to every eye,
And Truth unrobes his manly majesty;
Say, who can tell, how beautiful and fair,
Those angel-forms—those heavenly natures are?
Amid the bowers of ever pure delight,
Whence heaven’s unclouded sun excludes the night,
In fragrant groves arrayed in emerald green,
Where varying landscapes animate the scene,
Thou, sainted Mother! find’st that blest repose,
Which sweet celestial innocence bestows,—
To friendship there, thy glowing heart is given;
Thy hands, to all the charities of heaven;
Thy voice, to melody; thine eye, to see
The radiant bow that spans eternity!
If nature thus, instructive, deigns to trace
The soul in every feature of the face;
If lovely virtue there displays her charm,
And guilty passions ring the loud alarm;
Arouse, thou slumbering fair! and learn to see
That heaven commits thy destiny to thee.
Is virtuous love thy aim? Deserve the prize:
Or friendship? Know that here the secret lies:—
To be—and to appear what men approve:—
Their friendship thus is won—and thus their love.
Be mine the pride in measured verse to raise
A plain but lasting monument of praise,
To that distinguished science, known of yore,
Designed departed beauty to restore—
The Dental Art, by Greece and Rome admired,
When woman to imperial thrones aspired;—
Those mighty states were both to ruin hurled,
But lo! their art survives to bless the world.
(1)
Full well I know ’tis difficult to chime
The laws of science with the rules of rhyme;
Plain vulgar prose, my subject seems to claim,
Did not ambition prompt the higher aim,
The nobler pride, by more laborious care,
To speak in numbers that shall please the fair.
To woman, love’s first melodies were sung,
In nature’s prime, when earth and time were young,
And every bard, in each succeeding year,
Has framed his lays for woman’s listening ear:—
Nor let the grovelling soul that cleaves to earth
Dare to pretend to comprehend her worth;
When pure—she’s purer than the virgin snow,
On Andes’ top, when summer smiles below;
And more delight o’er life her sweetness breathes,
Than all besides that heaven to man bequeathes.
Since beauty thus bestows the kind caress,
And oft audacity secures success,
Be mine the task to join the tuneful throng,
And blend instruction with the charms of song.
When man was fashioned by the Power Supreme,
Strange and mysterious as the fact may seem,
And cause of wonder; to his frame was given
Peculiar structure by the hand of heaven:—
Imperious laws distinctively his own,
To other animated forms unknown.
Among these laws which science learns to trace,
Through every varying tribe of human race;
From arctic regions, clad in endless snows,
To where the tropical sirocco blows,
As well where elegant refinement smiles,
As far remote, among the ocean isles,
One common destiny awaits our kind;—
’Tis this, that long before the infant mind
Attains maturity—and ere the sun
Has through the first septennial circle run,
The teeth, deciduous, totter and decay,
And prompt successors hurry them away.
(2)This every mother knows, though not aware,
How precious then the kind maternal care
That holds incessant watch, lest nature’s course
Should meet obstruction from some counter force.
For oft the predecessors, lingering, claim
Undue connexion with the vital frame,
And, like a monarch, vindicate alone,
The questioned title to their ivory throne.
So mothers, proud of each surviving charm,
Regard their daughters’ beauty with alarm,
Lest these to admiration should aspire,
Before themselves are ready to retire.
But nature’s course is fixed, and man must yield,
For ’tis but madness to contest the field
With conquering fate: and holy heaven withdraws
Its smile from all who violate its laws.
Be watchful, ye—whose fond maternal arm,
Would shield defenceless infancy from harm,
(3)Mark well the hour when nature’s rights demand,
The skilful practice of the dentist’s hand.
But use discretion:—oft imposture wears
The same external guise that merit bears;
And bold pretenders show consummate wit,
By duping others to abandon it.
Beware of those whom science never taught
The hard but useful drudgery of thought,
For while in indolence their years have run,
They ask the wealth that industry has won:—
Can charity for such desire success?
No, let them eat the bread of idleness.
On just desert let all success attend,
And patient merit never want a friend.
(4)
To thee, companion of my happiest days,
The general voice awards superior praise;
’Twas nobly won, by sacrifice of ease,
’Mid raging tempests and through stormy seas.