OK, LANGUAGE OE FLOWEKS. 
209 
Welcome, welcome, thee I sing, 
Monument of parted spring; 
But will those charms e’er yield us joy ? 
No, where’s the bliss without alloy ? 
For, ah! I fear thy early bloom, 
But presages an early tomb. 
—— 
TIIE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 
’Tis the last Rose of summer, 
Left blooming alone; 
All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone : 
No flower of her kindred, 
No Rose-bud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 
Or give sigh for sigh! 
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! 
To pine on the stem: 
Since the lovely are sleeping 
Go sleep thou with them. 
Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves o’er the bed, 
■Whore thy mates of the garden 
Lie senseless end dead. 
So soon may I follow 
When friendships decay, 
