ROSE. 
9? 
Spenser has bequeathed us a very felicitous stanza 
about the rose as an emblem of modesty and fragility : 
“Ah ! see the virgin rose, how sweetly she 
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty, 
That fairer seems the less ye see her may ! 
Lo ! see soon after how, more bold and free, 
Her bared bosom she doth broad display ! 
Lo ! see soon after how she fades and falls away 1 ” 
Sir Walter Scott tells us : / 
The rose is fairest when ’tis budding new, 
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; 
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, 
And love is loveliest when embalmed with tears.’’ 
THE DYING ROSEBUD. 
MRS. OSGOOD. 
Ah me ! ah, woe is me ! 
That I should perish now. 
With the dear sunlight just let in 
Upon my balmy brow. 
My leaves, instinct with glowing life. 
Were quivering to unclose ; 
My happy heart with love was rife— 
I was almost a rose. 
Nerved by a hope, rich, warm, intense, 
Already I had risen 
Above my cage’s curving fence, 
My green and graceful prison. 
5 
