42 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
L’ aura soave e 1’ alba rugiadosa, 
L’acqua, la terra al suo favor s’incliina; 
Gioveni vaghi e donne inamorato 
Amano averne e seni e tempie ornate.” 
Orl. Fur., Canto I. 
The origin of the thorns on the rose is thus fancifully 
told: — 
“Young Love, rambling through the wood, 
Found me in my solitude, 
Bright with dew, and freshly blown, 
And trembling to the zephyr’s sighs. 
But as he stooped to gaze upon 
The living gem with raptured eyes, 
It chanced a bee was busy there 
Searching for its fragrant fare ; 
And Cupid, stooping, too, to sip, 
The angry insect stung his lip, — 
And, gushing from the ambrosial cell, 
One bright drop on my bosom fell. 
Weeping, to his mother he 
Told the tale of treachery; 
And she, her vengeful boy to please, 
Strung his bow with captive bees; 
But placed upon my slender stem 
The poisoned sting she plucked from them; 
And none, since that eventful morn, 
Have found the flower without a thorn.” 
ROSEBUD. Confession of love. 
“ Who can view the ripened rose, nor seek 
To wear it.-” Byron. 
Yet to many the rose is lovelier before she “ ex¬ 
pands her paradise of leaves.” 
“ The rose is fairest when ’tis budding new.” 
Scott. 
“ Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee 
Doth first peepe forth with bashfull modestee, 
That fairer seemes the less ye see her may.” 
Spenser. 
Thomson praises 
“ A red rosebud, moist with morniug dew, 
Breathing delight.” 
