172 
ROSE. 
ON AN EARLY ROSE. 
ANON. 
Sweet Rose, whose early showers, 
Have kindly, fondly nurst, 
I love thy leaves of red, 
For from fair Flora’s bed 
Thou lift’st thy modest head, 
Sweet Rose — the First. 
What spell is in that word, 
The first! the primal one ; 
Oh ! wherefore loves to stray 
The mind to pleasure’s day. 
And count in life’s pathway 
The sweets that shone ! 
Is it because of joys 
Long since like dreams are fled, 
Though each had rapture in it, 
None had that charm within it, 
As when that First —First minute, 
Their sweets were shed.? 
The same. —j. h. wiffen. 
W arm rival of the flame that dyes 
The heavens where Morning takes its birth, 
