SUMMER MEETING, 1894. 231 



Tennyson speaks of 



"The queen rose in the rosebud garden of girls." 



And B3^ron says of the young- girl: 



'•A lovely being scarcely formed or molded, 

 A rose, with all its sweetest leaves yet folded." 



Perhaps the best known poem is Moore's "The Last Rose of Sum- 

 mer," but this is hardly about the rose, either. The theme only 

 affords the singer an opportunity to indulge in a melancholy fancy 

 regarding the transitoriness of human friendships. Quaint Robert 

 Herrick, too, makes the same use of the rose: 



"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 



Old Time is still a flying. 

 And this same rose that smiles today 



Tomorrow will be dying." 



But Shakespeare would not leave his rose to die. or be "left bloom- 

 ing alone."' He says that 



"Earthlier, happier is the rose distilled 

 Than that which withering on the virgin thorn 

 Grows, lives and dies in single blessedness." 



Then, there is that tender sentiment that has done duty in so many 

 youthful albums. Go back in fancj', friends now gathered about 

 this board, to the old school house nestling beneath the hill or pro- 

 tected by the spreading arms of some old New England elm; go 

 back to your school days when you had singled out some blushing, 

 bright-eyed maid for your admiration, either boldly expressed or 

 bashfuUj' hidden in secret, when 5'ou scribbled her name in all pos- 

 sible places and wrote ver3^ mortal verse in her honor; and did j^ou 

 not, when Februarj^ llth came around, become so bold as to send 

 her these touching lines? 



"The rose is red, the violet blue. 

 The pink Is pretty and so are you." 



Perhaps, this maid, a matron grown, sits by you now, or watches 

 in yovir home. Perchance, she faded as the rose, or, perchance, 3'our 

 paths divided. Yet it needs oul}'- the repetition of these sentimental 

 lines to make the picture for a moment vivid. May it be otilj^ a 

 pleasant one! If not, remember "There is no rose without a thorn." 



There are many beautiful leg^ends about this flower. Did you ever 

 hear the one as to the origin of the red and white roses? In Bethle- 

 hem a beautiful maiden was accused of some crime and condemned 

 to be burned at the stake. The stake was driven, the maid was fast- 

 ened to it, the faggots were piled about her and lighted. Feeling- 

 that she was wrongfully accused, she pra3'ed to God that, if she was 

 innocent, he would come to her rescue. Immediatel3^ the flames were 

 extinguished; from the faggots that were already burned sprang 

 beautiful red roses, and from the unburned fag-gots sprang: white 

 roses, and before that day, according to the stor3', there were no 

 roses in that land. 



Ba3^ard Taylor tells of an oriental banquet at which the host, tak- 

 ing a basket of roses, said that "he who exalts them most in song, he 

 onl3r shall the roses wear." Various guests contested for the prize 

 when at last Hassan Ben Khaled arose. 



