POETRY OF THE ROSE. 121 



The laurel branch will droop and die, 

 The vine its purple fruit deny, 

 The wreath that smiling beauty twined 

 Will leave no lingering bud behind ; 

 For beauty's wreath and beauty's bloom 

 In vain would shun the withering tomb, 

 Where nought is bright and nought is fair, 

 Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there. 



Bright blossom ! of immortal bloom, 

 Of fadeless hue, and sweet perfume, 

 Far in the desert's dreary waste, 

 In lone neglected beauty placed : 

 Let others seek the blushing bower. 

 And cifll the frail and fading flower, 

 But I'll to dreariest wilds repair, 

 If Sharon's deathless Rose be there. 



When Nature's hand, with cunning care, 

 No more the opening bud shall rear. 

 But, hurled by heaven's avenging Sire, 

 Descends the earth-consuming fire. 

 And desolation's hunying blast, 

 O'er all the sadden'd scene has past, 

 There is a clime for ever fair, 

 And Sharon's Rose shall flourish there. 



AN EXTRACT. 



This mighty oak — 

 By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem 

 Almost annihilated — not a prince, 

 In all the proud old world beyond the deep. 

 E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 



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