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ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
THE BEECH TREE’S PETITION. 
O H leave this barren spot to me, 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
Though shrub or flow’ret never grow, 
My wan unwanning shade below, 
Nor fruits of autumn blossom born 
My green and glossy leaves adorn, 
Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
The ambrosial treasures'of the hive, 
Yet leave this little spot to me, 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree. 
Thrice twenty summers have I stood 
In bloomless, fruitless solitude; 
Since childhood in my rustling bower 
First spent its sweet and sportive hour, 
Since youthful lovers in my shade 
Their vows of truth and rapture paid, 
And on my trunk’s surviving frame 
Carv’d many a long forgotten name. 
Oh, by the vows of gentle sound 
First breathed upon this sacred ground, 
By all that Love hath whispered here. 
Or Beauty heard with ravish’d ear, 
As Love’s own altar honor me, 
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree. 
Thomas Campbell. 
SONG OF THE ROSE. 
I F Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth, 
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it; 
For the rose, ho, the rose ! is the grace of the earth, 
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it! 
For the rose, ho, the rose ! is the eye of the flowers, 
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,— 
Is the lightning of beauty, that strikes through the bowers 
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware. 
Ho, the rose breathes of love ! ho, the rose lifts the cup 
To the red eyes of Cypris invoked for a guest! 
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world 
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up, 
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west. 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
