THE HOSE. 
Why, what a history is in the Rose! 
A history beyond all other flowers; 
But never more, in garden or in grove, 
Will the white queen reign paramount again. 
She must content her with remembered things, 
When her pale leaves were badge for knight and earl; 
Pledge of a loyalty which was as pure. 
As free from stain, as those white depths her leaves 
Unfolded to the earliest breath of June. 
L. E. L. 
' rwVVWW 
THE YOUNG ROSE. 
The young Rose I give thee, so dew’y and bright, 
Was the flow’ret most dear to the sweet bird of night, 
Who oft, by the moon, o’er her blushes hath hung, 
And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung. 
Oh, take thou this young Rose, and let her life be 
Prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee; 
For, while o’er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill. 
She’ll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still. 
