120 POETRY OF THE ROSE. 



THE MOSS-ROSE. 



The Angel of the flowers, one day, 

 Beneath a Rose-tree sleeping lay- 

 That spirit to whom charge is given 

 To bathe young buds in dews of heaven ; 

 Awaking from his light repose, 

 The Angel whisper'd to the Ro$e : 

 " O fondest object of my care, 

 Still fairest found where all are fair, 

 For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me ; 

 Ask what thou wilt, 7 t is granted thee !' ; 



" Then," said the Rose, with deepen'd glow, 

 " On me another grace bestow !" 

 The spirit paused in silent thought 

 What grace was there that flower had not ? 

 'T was but a moment o'er the Rose 

 A veil of moss the angel throws ; 

 And, robed in Nature's simplest weed, 

 Could there a flower that Rose exceed ? 



FROM THE GERMAN. 



SHARON'S ROSE. 



Go, Warrior, pluck the laurel bough, 

 And bind it round thy reeking brow ; 

 Ye sons of pleasure blithely twine 

 A chaplet of the purple vine ; 

 And Beauty cull each blushing flower 

 That ever deck'd the sylvan bower; 

 No wreath is bright, no garland fair, 

 Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there. 



