80 NO OF THE BOS E. 85 



Thoughts of rapture, flushing 



Youthful poet's cheek, 

 Thoughts of glory rushing 

 Forth in song to break, 

 But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too 



weak. 

 Yet, oh ! festal rose, 



I have seen thee lying 

 In thy bright repose 



Pillow'd with the dying, 



Thy crimson by the life's quick blood was 

 flying. 



Summer, hope, and love ' 



O'er that bed of pain, 

 Meet in thee, yet wove 

 Too, too frail a claim 



In its embracing links the lovely to detain. 

 Smilest thou, gorgeous flower ? 



O ! within the spells 

 Of thy beauty's power 

 Something dimly dwells, 

 At variance with a world of sorrows and fare- 

 wells. 



8 



