192 
ROSE. 
And blush’d and brighten’d, as the morn 
From morn to sunrise glows, 
Till o’er each parent’s drooping head, 
The daughter’s crowning glory spread. 
My Friends ! in youth’s romantic prime, 
The golden age of man, 
Like these twin Roses spend your time, 
—Life’s little, less’ning span ; 
Then be your breasts as free from cares, 
Your hours as innocent as theirs. 
And in the infant bud that blows 
In your encircling arms, 
Mark the dear promise of a rose, 
The pledge of future charms, 
That o’er your withering hours shall shine. 
Fair, and mere fair, as you decline;— 
Till, planted in that realm of rest. 
Where Roses never die, 
Amidst the gardens of the blest, 
Beneath a stormless sky, 
You flower afresh, like Aaron’s rod, 
That blossom’d at the sight of God. 
