34 The Rose Garden. 



Then gather the Rose in its fresh morning beauty, 

 The rose of a day too soon dimmed from above ; 

 Whilst, beloved, we may love, let ' to love ' be our duty, 

 Now, now, whilst 'tis youth pluck the roses of love. " 

 The "Jerusalem Delivered" of Torquato Tasso, translated by J. H. Wiffen. Canto xvi. , vv. 14, 15. 



The following is from the German : 



The angel of the flowers one day 



Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay, 



That spirit to whose charge is given 



To bathe young buds in dews from heaven. 



Awaking from his light repose, 



The Angel whispered to the Rose : 



" O fondest object of my care, 



Still fairest found where all are fair, 



For the sweet shade thou'st giv'n to me, 



Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee." 



"Then," said the Rose, with deepened glow, 



" On me another grace bestow." 



The Spirit paused in silent thought, 



What grace was there that flower had not ? 



'Twas but a moment o'er the Rose 



A veil of moss the Spirit throws, 



And robed in nature's simplest weed, 



Could there a flower that Rose exceed ? 



" Flora Domestica," by Henry Phillips. 



To Goethe we are indebted for 



THE ROSEBUD. 

 Once a boy a rosebud saw 

 Rosebud in the heather ! 

 'Twas so young, and morning bright, 

 Gazed he on it with delight, 

 In the sunny weather. 



Rosy, rosy, rosy bud, 

 Rosebud in the heather ! 



Said the boy, " I'll pluck thee, Rose 

 Rosebud in the heather ! " 

 Said the rosebud, " 'Ware the thorn ; 

 Thou shalt rue it, scratched and torn, 

 In the sunny weather ! " 



Rosy, rosy, rosy bud, 

 Rosebud in the heather ! 



Wilful boy ! he pluck'd the Rose, 

 Rose amid the heather ! 

 Rosebud tore his hand amain, 

 Little helps his cry of pain, 

 In the sunny weather. 



Rosy, rosy, rosy bud, 

 Rose amid the heather. 



Translated bv the Rev. F. W. Farrar. 



This beautiful little poem reminds me of an anecdote of a living philosopher, 

 who, walking with a lady in his garden in France, presented her with a rose, the 

 thorns of which wounded her fingers. Irritated by the sudden pain, she exclaimed, 

 " What a pity that the Creator should have given to so beautiful a flower so rude a 



