A SONG CF THE ROSE. 
Yet, oh ! festal rose, 
I have seen thee lying 
In thv bright repose 
Pillow’d 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 claim 
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. 
AH the soul forth flowing 
In that rich perfume, 
All the proud life glowing 
In that radiant bloom, ? 
Have they no place but here, beneath th 
o’ershadowing tomb! 
Crown’st thou but the daughters 
Of our tearful race ?— 
