178 
ROSE. 
“ Then,” said the rose, with deepened glow, 
“ On me another grace bestow ! ”— 
The spirit paused in silent thought, 
What grace was there that flower had not? 
’Twas but a moment—o’er the rose 
A veil of moss the angel throws. 
And robed in nature’s simplest weed. 
Could there a flower that rose exceed? 
THE WILD ROSE. 
MILLHOUSE. 
Oh ! there’s a wild rose in yon rugged dell. 
Fragrant as that which blooms the garden’s 
pride ; 
And there’s a sympathy no tongue can tell, 
Breathed from the linnet chanting by its 
side ; 
And there is music in that whispering rill, 
Far more delightsome than the raging 
main ; 
And more of beauty on yon verdant hill. 
Than to the grandest palace can pertain : 
For there is nought so lovely and serene. 
Throughout the chambers of the mightiest 
king, 
As the pure calm that rests upon this scene, 
