HOSE. 
177 
Did he not aid his lingering rhyme 
With thoughts of me in my summer’s prime 1 
Or how could the absent the loved one 
pourtray, 
Were/ it not for the Rose in her blushing 
array 1 
And the holiday wreath could be never 
combined, 
Were not the bright Rose in the garland 
entwined : 
Rut dearer to me is the praise Fame bestows — 
When she calls me Old England’s own bonny 
Red Rose. 
THE MOSS ROSE. 
FROM THE GERMAN. 
The Angel of the flowers, one day. 
Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay. 
That spirit to whom charge is given 
To bathe young buds in dews of heaven; 
Awaking from his light repose. 
The Angel whispered to the rose : 
“ O fondest object of my care, 
“ Still fairest found,where all are fair; 
“ For the sweet shade thou givest to me, 
“ Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee! ” 
