ROSE. 109 



THE MOSS ROSE. 



FROM THE GERMAN. 



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? 



THE WILD ROSE. 

 MILLHOUSE. 



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: 



