170 
ROSE. 
Yonder is a girl who lingers 
Where wild honeysuckle grows, 
Mingling with the briar-rose ; 
And with eager outstretched fingers, 
Tip-toe standing, vainly tries 
To reach the hedge-enveloped prize. 
H. Smith. 
Wound in the hedge-rows oaken boughs 
The woodbine’s tassels float in air. 
And, blushing, the uncultured rose 
Hangs high her beauteous blossoms there. 
SMITH. 
INVITATION TO A ROSE. 
SMITH. 
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose, 
The beauties of thy leaves disclose ! 
The winter’s past, the tempests fly, 
Soft gales breathe gently thro’ the sky; 
The lark sweet warbling on the wing, 
Salutes the gay return of Spring: 
The silver dews, the vernal showers, 
Call forth a bloomy waste of flowers ; 
The joyous fields, the shady woods, 
Are clothed with green, or swell’d with buds. 
