ICOSANDRIA. POLYGYNIA. Rubus. 
623 
(1) Shrub-lUce. . 
R. ID/E f us. (Leaves winged, with five or three leafits, hairy beneath ; 
stem nearly erects prickly ; leaf-stalk channelled. E.) 
The rains are gone, the storms are o’er; 
Winter retires to make thee way ; 
Come then, thou sweetly blushing flower. 
Come, lovely stranger, come away. 
The Sun is dress'd in beaming smiles. 
To give thy beauties to the day; 
Young Zephyrs wait, with gentlest gales, 
To fan thy bosom, as they play.” Hervey. 
Anacreon tuned his sweetest lays in praise <of this most distinguished flower, but with 
these our readers are already familiar; we therefore present a few’ unpublished lines by the 
Rev.-S-y, which will scarcely lose by a comparison even with the gifted song 
of the Teian ;— 
i( I did not mean to mock the Rose , 
Nor do her injur’d blossom w’rong; 
There’s not a flower the garden shows 
More sacred to the priests of song : 
Its fragrance could the Greek inspire, 
And breathes in many a Roman line, 
Its buds adorn the Persian lyre, 
And must not be disgrac’d by mine. 
In Spring I watch its first green hue. 
Fair promise of a leaf to be ; 
And, long before it bursts to view, 
Its swelling folds have charms for me. 
I count each bud with silent hope, 
Which Summer ripens into flower ; 
And when the glowing petals ope, 
I treasure them within my bower. 
Scarce can the enamour’d Nightingale 
More closely w r oo it for its bride ; 
The bird which in the Eastern tale, 
Sits w’arbling music at its side. 
I love it in its earliest blade; 
I love it in its richest bloom ; 
And when its living blushes fade 
I court its memory in perfume.” 
In Asia prevails the fable of the Rose and Bulbul, so celebrated by Eastern poets .— 
“ For there—the Rose o’er crag or vale, 
Sultana to the Nightingale, 
Blooms blushing to her lover’s tale ; 
His queen, his garden queen, his Rose; 
* » * * * 
* * * * * 
Returns tlie sweets by nature given, 
In softest incense back to heaven ; 
And grateful yields that smiling sky. 
Her fairest hue and fragrant sigh.” Byron. 
Moore likewise alludes to the same tender sympathy with his wonted fervour ~ 
ts Oh ! sooner shall the Rose of May 
Mistake her own sweet nightingale, 
And to some meaner minstrel’s lay 
D 
VOL. III. 
