106 
ROSE. 
The stalk some spirit quickly rears, 
And waters with celestial tears; 
For well may maids of Helle deem 
That this can be no earthly flower, 
Which mocks the tempest’s withering hour, 
And buds unshelter’d by a bower; 
Nor droops though Spring refuse her shower, 
Nor wooes the Summer beam: 
To it the livelong night there sings 
A bird unseen, but not remote; 
Invisible his airy wings, 
But soft as harp that Houri strings, 
His lone entrancing note. 
BRIDE OF ABYDOS. 
Yonder is a girl who lingers 
Where wild honeysuckle grows, 
Mingling with the Briar-rose; 
And with eager outstretch’d fingers, 
Tip-toe standing, vainly tries 
To reach the hedge-enveloped prize. 
H. SMITH. 
Wound in the hedge-rows’ oaken boughs 
The woodbine’s tassels float in air, 
And, blushing, the uncultured Rose 
Hangs high her beauteous blossoms there. 
SMITH. 
