115 
THE MOSS ROSE. 
Queen of Flora’s emerald bowers, 
Impérial Rose, thou queen of flowers, 
Wave thy moss-enwreathen stem. 
Wave thy dewy diadem; 
Thy crimson luxury unfold. 
And drink the sunny blaze of gold ! 
Bxackwood’s Magazine. 
The garden now displays « a bloomy waste of 
flowers,” and amongst them 
“ The Queen Rose reigns suprême, 
Fairest among the fair.” 
The Rose is the poet’s favourite flower, and so many 
strains hâve they sung in her praise that, with the 
recollection of their varied melody, it is difficult to 
write of her in prose. I believe there is no one 
who déniés her attractions, and that there are many 
who will sympathize in the love and admiration which 
these lines express : 
“In Spring I watch its opening hue, 
Fair promise of a leaf to be, 
And, long before they burst to view, 
Its swelling folds hâve charms for me. 
