120 POETRY OF THE ROSE. 



THE MOSS-ROSE. 



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 hght 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 thoii 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 7 

 'T was 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 ? 



From the German. 



SHARON'S ROSE. 



Go, Warrior, pluck the laurel bough. 

 And bind it round thy reeking brow ; 

 Ye sons of pleasure blithely twine 

 A chaplet of the purple vine ; 

 And Beauty cull each blushing flower 

 That ever deck'd the sylvan bower; 

 No wreath is bright, no garland fair, 

 Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there. 



