240 A SONG TO THE ROSE. 



buried him in the " Grave of the Indian King." And in this hal- 

 lowed spot his ashes have reposed in peace, the little mound 

 becoming more holy by the lapse of years, and the tradition more 

 interesting as lights and shadows were imparted to it by those whose 

 imaginations were kindled by the relation, until the autumn of the 

 year of grace, 1829, when it was visited by an English savant, who 

 spent some months with the hospitable proprietor of the consecrated 

 mound. This gentleman had travelled much, and had been a great 

 collector of curiosities. He had killed alligators in the Delta of the 

 Mississipi, and chased buffaloes in California. He had hunted ele- 

 phants in South Africa, and tigers in the jungles of Bengal. He 

 had rescued an urn from the ruins of Herculaneum, and dug an Ibis, 

 and a thigh-bone of one of the Pharaohs, from the pyramids of Grand 

 Cairo. And he was resolved to penetrate the secrets of the Indian's 

 grave, and if possible to obtain the pipe, the tomahawk, and the hunt- 

 ing apparatus, if not the canoe, of the venerable chief, to enrich the 

 museum of the capital of his native land. Accordingly, with 

 secrecy, he repaired thither one moonlight night in October, 

 armed with crowbar and shovel. But, alas, for the worthy collector 

 of curiosities, and the veracity of traditional history! a bed of com- 

 pact limestone rock, within a few inches of the surface of the earth, 

 soon taught the Gothic invader of the Grave that no grave had ever 

 been there ! 



STONE. 



A SONG TO THE ROSE. 



O ! pretty rose : O ! pretty rose : 

 The brightest, fairest flower that blows ; 

 The meetest for a garland's twine, 

 The sweetest for a poet's line. 



Thou 'rt pale, at times, as Beauty's breast, 

 And fragrant as her lips when pressed, 

 Or hast their rich transparent hue 

 As touched by morning's silver dew. 



And when thou 'rt dead still perfume weaves 

 Its rarest essence round thy leaves : 

 So rest thee here, entwined close, 

 My bosom friend. O ! pretty rose. 



ELIZA. 



