TO THE RHODODEHDHOH. 
I CHAEaE thee, flower, of beanty born. 
Lift not thy head too high. 
For, like the lowliest of thy race, 
Thon, too, wert born to die. 
The Power that lifts thee to the snn. 
And bends thee to the gale. 
Doth watch, with equal care and love. 
The Lily of the vale. 
The liberal hand that touched thy cheek 
With love’s enchanting hue. 
Gave the Lobelia’s dazzling red, 
The Violet its blue. 
Then not, like man, proud man, look down. 
And curl thy lip in scorn 
On the companions of thy path. 
Because more lowly born. 
Seest thou the Eose, so modestly 
Her lovely head recline? — 
And yet the Queen of flowers is she, 
Whose blushes equal thine. 
Yet, midst thy leaves of evergreen. 
So sweetly hast thou blown. 
But for the fragrance of the Eose, 
Thou might’st dispute the crown. 
( 26 ) 
