The Rose Garden. 



Trophies and laurels at her feet he laid, 



And hoped, who won a town, might win a maid. 



But haughty she (for beauty caused her pride), 



Provoked with their addresses, proudly cried, 



" From arm, and not entreaties seek a bride. " 



Nor deigning to receive their vain replies, 



With armed attendants to the Temple flies ; 



With her the young, the old, a numerous train 



Throng to Apollo's and Diana's fane ; 



Suppliant the nymph before the altar bows 



And prays the goddess to preserve her vows, 



The Kings enraged, their numerous force unite, 



And breaking through the doors begin the fight ; 



Encouraging her guards the Princess glows 



With martial ardour and repels her foes ; 



But whether valour mixed with shame might add 



Force to her eyes, or that in armour clad 



Fairer she seemed, the multitude amazed 



With more than usual admiration gazed, 



Called her the Goddess, broke Diana's shrine, 



And placed their Princess there as more divine, 



When powerful Phoebus, warm in the defence 



Of his chaste sister, curbs their insolence ; 



And while his blasting flames revengeful fly, 



The Queen repents she seemed a Deity. 



Fast in the shrine her foot takes hold and cleaves, 



Her arms stretched out are covered o'er with leaves, 



Tho' changed into a flower her pomp remains, 



And lovely still and still a Queen she reigns. 



The crowd for their offence this doom abide 



Shrunk into thorns to guard her beauty's pride ; 



Thrice happy she had they not vainly strove 1 ] 



With rights divine her honour to improve, 



Nor incense paid her for a subject's love. 



Brias a worm, Areas a drone became, 



A butterfly Halesus ; with like flame 



They felt at first, about her they resort 



Whole days, and still her charming fragrance court. 



Rapin on Gardens. Translated by James Gardiner. 



Delille exclaims : "Mais qui peut refuser un hommage a la Rose?" And Bernard, 

 Malherbe, St Victor, Roger, Ronsard, Leonard, and others too numerous to mention, 

 have made it the subject of the most delightful strains. 



As a specimen from the Spanish, we offer a poem to the Rose by Francisco de 

 Rioja, who wrote about the middle of the seventeenth century : 



TO THE ROSE. 

 Pure fiery Rose, 

 Rival of the flame, 

 Thou that goest forth with the day, 

 How art thou born so full of joy? 



If thou knowest that the age which the heaven gives thee 

 Is but short and swift flown through space, 

 And neither the shoots of thy branch 

 Nor thy purple loveliness 

 Can avail to stay the hurrying 

 Execution of fate for a moment, 



trove "j 

 ve, V 



2. J 



