ROSE. 
101 
Rose ! here too much arrayed 
For triumphal hours, 
Look’st thou through the shade 
Of these mortal bowers, 
Not to disturb my soul, thou crowned one of all flowers ? 
A? an eagle soaring 
Through a sunny sky, 
As a clarion pouring 
Notes of victory, 
So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly life too high— 
Thoughts of rapture, flushing 
Youthful poet’s cheek, 
Thoughts of glory rushing 
Forth in song to break, 
But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak. 
Yet, 0 festal rose ! 
I have seen thee lying 
In thy bright repose 
Pillowed with the dying, 
Thy crimson by the life’s quick blood was flying. 
Summer, hope, and love. 
O’er that bed of pain. 
Met in thee, yet wove 
Too, too frail a chain 
In its embracing links the lovely to detain. 
Smil’st thou, gorgeous flower ?— 
Oh ! within the spells _ 
Of thy beauty’s power 
Something dimly dwells, 
At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells. 
