318 FLORA DOMESTIC A. 



But on her lips, like rosie buds in May, 

 So many millions of chaste pleasures play. 



SPENSER. 



' f The rose, the flower of love, 

 Mingle with our quaffing ; 

 The rose, the lovely leaved, 

 Round our brows be weaved, 

 Genially laughing. 



' ' O the rose, the first of flowers, 

 Darling of the early bowers, 



E'en the gods for thee have places ; 

 Thee too Cytherea's boy 

 Weaves about his locks for joy, 



Dancing with the graces. 



" Crown me then ; I '11 play the lyre, 



Bacchus, underneath thy shade : 

 Heap me, heap me, higher and higher, 

 And I '11 lead a dance of fire 



With a dark deep bosomed maid." 



HUNT, from Anacreon. 



" Her face so fair, like flesh it seemed not, 

 But heavenly portrait of bright angel's hue 

 Clear as the sky withouten blame or blot, 

 Through goodly mixture of complexions due ; 

 And in her cheeks the vermeil red did shew 

 Like roses in a bed of lilies shed, 

 The which ambrosial odours from them threw, 

 And gazer's sense with double pleasure fed, 



Able to heal the sick, and to revive the dead." 



SPENSER. 



The Red-Rose is said to have been indebted for its 

 color to the blood which flowed from the thorn-wounded 

 feet of Venus, when running through the woods in despair 

 for the loss of Adonis : as the White-Rose is also said to 

 have sprung from the tears which the goddess shed upon 

 that occasion. Ample reasons these for dedicating them 

 to her. 



" White as the native rose before the change, 

 Which Venus' blood did in her leaves impress." 



SPEKSER. 



