The Poetry of the Rose. 29 



as useful in diseases. The Rose is made the particular subject of his Fifth and Fifty- 

 third Odes. In the former we read : 



O, lovely Rose ! to thee I sing ! 

 Thou sweetest, fairest child of spring ! 

 O, thou are dear to all the gods, 

 The darling of their blest abodes. 



From Ode 5. Translated bv Thomas Bourne. 



In the Fifty-third Ode the poet considers it sacred, and accounts for its origin in a 

 marvellous manner 



While spring with lavish flow'rets glows, 

 From the gay wreath I'll pluck the Rose, 

 The queen of fragrance will display. 

 Oh ! pour, my friend, th' accordant lay. 

 Dear to earth thy smiling bloom ! 

 Dear to heav'n thy rich perfume ! 

 Sacred to the sportive hour, 

 When the loves, from flower to flower, 

 Blithely trip ; the Graces fair 

 Bind thy treasures to their hair ; 

 By the Paphian queen caress'd, 

 Seated on her snowy breast. 



Nymphs who haunt th' embow'ring shades 



Poesy's enchanting maids, 



Woo tbee, Rose ; thy charms inspire 



All the raptures of the lyre. 



Cull me straight th' inviting Rose ; 



Shielded by the thorn it grows. 



Cull the Rose : what boots the smart ? 



Boundless sweets regale the heart. 



Pluck it not : the flow'ry gem 

 Unwilling quits its parent stem. 

 Round the feast of fragrance rove ; 

 But gently touch the Rose of love. 

 'Mid the sons of Comus spread, 

 Blooms the Rose's living red ; 

 Chaplet for the thirsty soul, 

 Well it crowns the purple bowl. 



Hark, the bard ! his numbers pour 

 Incense to the sacred flower. 

 The rosy-fingered beam of light 

 Undraws the curtain of the night. 

 Health's blushing Rose the virgin streaks, 

 And paints the down of Venus' cheeks. 



Lovely Rose ! thy genial power 

 Sweetly soothes the sickly hour ; 

 O'er the grave thy fragrance shed ; 

 We sink in quiet to the dead. 

 When the envious hand of time 

 Nips the honours of thy prime, 

 Fresh in youth thy odours bear 

 Richness to the ambient air. 



