POETRY OF THE ROSE. 63 



this chapter for the sake of the more practical matter contained 

 elsewhere, while some will perhaps be attracted to other chapters 

 by the pleasure they have derived from this. 



TO THE ROSE. 



Fruitless and endless were the task, I ween, 



With every flower to grace my votive lay ; 

 And unto thee, their long acknowledged Queen, 



Fairest and loveliest ! and thy gentle sway, 

 Beautiful Rose, my homage I must pay ; 



For how can minstrel leave thy charms unsung, 

 Whose meek supremacy has been alway 



Confess'd, in many a clime and many a tongue, 

 And in whose praise the harp of many a bard has sung ? 



Mine is unworthy such a lovely theme ; 



Yet, could I borrow of that tuneful bird 

 Who sings thy praises by the moon's pale beam 



As fancy's graceful legends have averr'd-* 

 Those thrilling harmonies at midnight heard, 



With sounds of flowing waters, not in vain 

 Should the loose strings of my rude harp be stirr'd 



By inspiration's breath ; but one brief strain 



Should re-assert thy rights and celebrate thy reign. 



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I love the Rose it is a noble flower ; 

 In color rich, and opulent of leaves : 

 And when her summer garland Flora weaves, 



She sees no fairer beauty in her bower, 



None which, so redolent of perfume, flings 



A sweeter fragrance on the zephyr's wings. 



