The stalk some spirit quickly rears,
And waters with celestial tears;
For well may maids of Helle deem
That this can be no earthly flower,
Which mocks the tempest's withering hour,
And buds unshelter'd by a bower;
Nor droops though Spring refuse her shower, Nor wooes the Summer beam:
To it the livelong night there sings
A bird unseen, but not remote ;
Invisible his airy wings,
But soft as harp that Houri strings,
His lone entrancing note.
YONDER is a girl who lingers
Where wild honeysuckle grows,
Mingling with the Briar-rose;
And with eager outstretch'd fingers,
Tip-toe standing, vainly tries
To reach the hedge-enveloped prize.
WOUND in the hedge-rows' oaken boughs
The woodbine's tassels float in air,
And, blushing, the uncultured Rose
Hangs high her beauteous blossoms there.
QUEEN of fragrance, lovely Rose,
The beauties of thy leaves disclose!
The winter's past, the tempests fly,
Soft gales breathe gently through the sky;
The lark, sweet warbling on the wing,
Salutes the gay return of Spring;
The silver dews, the vernal showers,
Call forth a bloomy waste of flowers;
The joyous fields, the shady woods,
Are clothed with green, or swell'd with buds.
Then haste thy beauties to disclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose !
NURSED by the zephyr's balmy sigh,
And cherish'd by the tears of morn;
Oh, queen of flowers! awake! arise!
Oh haste, delicious Rose, be born!
Unheeding wish! no-yet awhile,
Be yet awhile thy dawn delay'd;
Since the same hour that sees thee smile
In orient bloom, shall see thee fade.
The same.-BOWRING.
ROSE of the morning, in thy glowing beauty,
Bright as the stars, and delicate and lovely,
Lift up thy head above thy earthly dwelling,
Daughter of heaven!
Wake! for the watery clouds are all dispersing!
Zephyr invites thee: frosts and snows of winter
All are departed; and Favonian breezes
Welcome thee, smiling.
SWEET Rose, whom early showers
Have kindly, fondly nurst:
I love thy leaves of red,
For from fair Flora's bed
Thou lift'st thy modest head,
Sweet Rose-the First.
What spell is in that word,
The First! the primal one:
Oh! wherefore loves to stray
The mind to pleasure's day,
And count in life's pathway
The sweets that shone!
Is it because of joys
Long since like dreams are fled,
Though each had rapture in it,
None had that charm within it,
As when that First-First minute,
Their sweets were shed?
THE Angel of the flowers, one day,
Beneath a Rose-tree sleeping lay-
That spirit to whom charge is given
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven;
Awaking from his light repose,
The Angel whisper'd to the Rose:
"O fondest object of my care,
"Still fairest found where all are fair,
"For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me;
"Ask what thou wilt, 't is granted thee!"
"Then," said the Rose, with deepen'd glow,
"On me another grace bestow!"
The spirit paused in silent thought,-
What grace was there that flower had not?
'Twas but a moment-o'er the Rose
A veil of moss the angel throws;
And, robed in Nature's simplest weed,
Could there a flower that Rose exceed?
OH! there's a wild Rose in yon rugged dell,
Fragrant as that which blooms the garden's pride;
And there's a sympathy no tongue can tell,
Breathed from the linnet chanting by its side:
And there is music in that whispering rill,
Far more delightsome than the raging main;
And more of beauty on yon verdant hill,
Than to the grandest palace can pertain :
For there is nought so lovely and serene,
Throughout the chambers of the mightiest king,
As the pure calm that rests upon this scene,
'Mid sporting lambkins and the songs of spring:
Yet oft, attracted by some dazzling show,
Man flies from peace, pursuing gilded woe.
THE Rose, the sweetly-blooming Rose,
Ere from the tree it's torn,
Is like the charms which Beauty shows,
In life's exulting morn.
But, oh! how soon its sweets are gone,
How soon it withering lies!
So when the eve of life comes on,
Sweet Beauty fades and dies.
Then, since the fairest form that's made,
Soon withering we shall find,
Let us possess what ne'er will fade,
The beauties of the Mind.
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