40 
THE LANGUAGE OF FLO WEES. 
Anacreon has sung the praises of the rose in two 
• exquisite odes. In one he says, — 
“ O, lovely rose! to thee I sing:, 
Thou sweetest, fairest child of spring-'. 
O, thou art dear to all the gods, 
The darling of their blest abodes ; 
Thy breathing buds and blossoms fair 
Entwine young Cupid’s golden hair. 
When gayly dancing hand in hand, 
He joins the Graces’ lovely band.” 
The other one we give entire, sure that our readers 
will forgive its length for its beauty and appropriate¬ 
ness. The translation is by T. Bourne. 
“ Thou, my friend, shalt sweep the string, 
I in loftiest strains will sing, 
While its fragrance round us flows, 
The queen of flowers, the lovely rose. 
Its perfumed breath ascends the skies 
On every gentle gale that sighs; 
Its sweets descend to earth again, 
Alike beloved by gods and men. 
When spring awakes the slumbering flowers, 
And music breathes amid the bowers, 
Thee, darling gem, the Graces wear 
Entwined amid their flowing hair; 
And rosy wreaths alone may dress 
The queen of love and loveliness. 
In every song and fable known 
The Muses claim thee as their own; 
Thou bidd’st thy blooming sweetness glow 
In thorny paths of pain and woe. 
But O, what joy, when blest we rove 
Through rosy bowers and dream of love. 
While bliss on every breeze is borne, 
To pluck the rose without the thorn; 
With gentlest touch its leaves to press, 
And raise it to our soft caress! 
O, thou art still the poet’s theme, 
And thee a welcome guest we deem, 
To grace our feasts and deck our hair. 
When Bacchus bids us banish care. 
E’en Nature does thy beauties prize — 
She steals thy tint to paint the skies; 
