■t- 
250 $[)«. 
Come, chase that starting tear away, 
Ere mine to meet it springs; 
To-night, at least, to-night he gay, 
Whate’er to-morrow brings! 
Like sunset gleams, that linger late 
When all is darkening fast, 
Are hours like these we snatch from Fate— 
The brightest and the last. 
Moore. 
; Tis the last rose of summer, 
Left blooming alone; 
All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone; 
No flower of her kindred, 
No rose-bud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes. 
Or give sigh for sigh! 
I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one, 
To pine on the stem; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 
Go, sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves o’er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 
Lie scentless and dead. 
Moore. 
