POETRY OF THE ROSE. 97 



They were gather'd for a bridal ! 



And now, now they are dying, 

 And young Love at the altar 



Of broken faith is sighing. 

 Their summer life was stainless, 



And not like her's who wore them ; 

 They are faded, and the farewell 



Of beauty lingers o'er them ! 



SARAH LOUISA P. SMITH. 



THE DESOLATE ONE. 



As wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, 



By the dial-stone aged and green, 

 One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk. 



To mark where a garden had been ; 

 Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, 



All wild in the silence of nature, it drew 

 From each wandering sunbeam a lovely embrace, 

 For the nightweed and thorn overshadowed the place 



Where the flower of my forefathers grew. 



Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all 



That survives in this desolate heart ! 

 The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall, 



But patience shall never depart ; 

 Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright. 



In the days of delusion by fancy combined 

 With the vanishing phantoms of wo and delight, 

 Abandon my soul like a dream of the night, 



And leave but a desert behind. 



CAMPBELL. 

 9 



