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POETRY OF THE ROSE. 



By Helle's maids of yore ; 



It graced their scenes of festive glee 



In the classic vales of Arcady, 



And all the honors bore ; 



And shed its fragrance on the breeze 



That swept through academic grove, 



Where sages with their scholars rove — 



The land of Pericles. 



In the sunny clime of Suristan, 



On India's burning shore, 



Amid the Brahmin's sacred shades, 



Or in the wreaths that Persian maids, 



Sporting in bright and sunny glades, 



In graceful beauty wore ; 



Upon the banks of Jordan's stream, 



Still flowing softly on. 



Where Judah's maidens once did lave. 



Or where the lofty cedars wave. 



On time-worn Lebanon ; 



The Rose is still most rich and sweet. 



And wears the crown for beauty meet. 



I have basked in the beauty of southern climes. 



And wandered through groves of palm and limes. 



Where dark-eyed Spanish girls 



Would linger in their myrtle bowers, — 



With garlands rich of orange flowers 



Would weave their raven curls. 



And fasten 'mid their lustrous hair 



The fire-fly's glittering light. 



Which, brighter than the diamond's sheen. 



Bursts on the dazzled sight. 



But yet I would not give for these. 



Produce of tropic sun and breeze — 



For all the flowers in beauty there — 



The Rose our northern maidens wear. 



