The Knickerbocker/Volume 1/Number 1/A Belle's Philosophy
A BELLE'S PHILOSOPHY.
FROM A LADY'S ALBUM.[1]
Yon mountain’s side hath a crystal stream,
Which laughs along in the sunlight free,
And its rippling course and the splintering gleam
Of its diamond falls are a joy to see.
Shall we turn it aside from its sparkling way,
To slake for a summer a garden’s thirst,
That buds may have life, and that flow'rets gay
In its fostering dews may be born and nurs'd.
Oh no, philosopher, no,
Utility must not mislead us so.
We must always strive
To preserve alive
A little romance in this world below.
There's a statue beneath yon humble shrine,
'Tis the Queen of the Graces in virgin gold,
Instinct with a beauty, as like divine,
As poet or painter could feign of old.
Shall her smiling and gentle presence be
Coined down like a common and sordid thing,
To bear to the ends of the earth and sea,
The stupid impress of a foolish king.
Oh no, philosopher, no, &c.
There's another shrine where the votary sues
To the glorious life of that sculptured form;
And where in the light that her smiles diffuse,
The iciest bosoms grow soft and warm.
Shall the fatal spell of the parson drown
In the rights of one mortal, the hopes of all.
Shall the queen of the belles lay the sceptre down,
And yield to a homely domestic thrall.
Oh no, philosopher, no.
Utility must not mislead us so.
We must always strive
To preserve alive
A little romance in this world below.
Which laughs along in the sunlight free,
And its rippling course and the splintering gleam
Of its diamond falls are a joy to see.
Shall we turn it aside from its sparkling way,
To slake for a summer a garden’s thirst,
That buds may have life, and that flow'rets gay
In its fostering dews may be born and nurs'd.
Oh no, philosopher, no,
Utility must not mislead us so.
We must always strive
To preserve alive
A little romance in this world below.
There's a statue beneath yon humble shrine,
'Tis the Queen of the Graces in virgin gold,
Instinct with a beauty, as like divine,
As poet or painter could feign of old.
Shall her smiling and gentle presence be
Coined down like a common and sordid thing,
To bear to the ends of the earth and sea,
The stupid impress of a foolish king.
Oh no, philosopher, no, &c.
There's another shrine where the votary sues
To the glorious life of that sculptured form;
And where in the light that her smiles diffuse,
The iciest bosoms grow soft and warm.
Shall the fatal spell of the parson drown
In the rights of one mortal, the hopes of all.
Shall the queen of the belles lay the sceptre down,
And yield to a homely domestic thrall.
Oh no, philosopher, no.
Utility must not mislead us so.
We must always strive
To preserve alive
A little romance in this world below.
- ↑ Supposed to be the only one now extant.