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ROSE. 
And there is music in that whispering rill, 
Far more delightsome than the raging main ; 
And more of beauty on yon verdant hill, 
Than to the grandest palace can pertain : 
For there is nought so lovely and serene, 
Throughout the chambers of the mightiest king, 
As the pure calm that rests upon this scene, 
’Mid sporting lambkins and the songs of spring 
Yet oft, attracted by some dazzling show, 
Man flies from peace, pursuing gilded woe. 
THE FADING ROSE. 
C. J. FOX. 
The Rose, the sweetly-blooming Rose, 
Ere from the tree it’s torn, 
Is like the charms which Beauty shows, 
In life’s exulting morn. 
But, oh! how soon its sweets are gone, 
How soon it withering lies! 
So when the eve of life comes on, 
Sweet Beauty fades and dies. 
Then, since the fairest form that’s made, 
Soon withering we shall find, 
Let us possess what ne’er will fade,— 
The beauties of the Mind. 
