78 
The Poelry of Flowers. 
Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows, 
And in a short-lived flower his beauty blows. 
Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast, 
That beauty's but a transient good at best; 
Like flowers it withers with the advancing year, 
And age, like winter, robs the blooming fair. 
A SONG OF THE ROSE. 
BY MRS. HEMANS. 
Rose ! what dost thou here ? 
Bridal, royal Rose ! 
How, 'midst grief and fear, 
Canst thou thus disclose 
That fervid hue of love which to thy heart-leaf glows? 
Rose ! too much arrayed 
For triumphal hours, 
Look'st thou through the shade 
Of these mortal bowers, 
Not to disturb my soul, thou crowned one of all 
flowers ! 
As an eagle soaring 
Through a sunny sky, 
As a clarion pouring 
Notes of victory, 
So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly life too 
high— 
Thoughts of rapture flushing 
Youthful poet’s cheek, 
Thoughts of glory rushing 
Forth in song to break, 
But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak. 
