ROSE. 117 
With nectar drops, a ruby tide. 
The sweetly orient buds they dyed. 
And bade them bloom, the flowers divine 
Of him who sheds the teeming vine; 
And bade them on the spangled thorn 
Expand their bosoms to the morn. 
According to ancient Fable, the red colour of the 
Rose may be traced to Venus, whose delicate foot, 
when she was hastening to the relief of her 
beloved Adonis, was pierced by a thorn, that drew 
blood. 
Which on the White Rose being shed. 
Made it for ever after red. 
Herrick. 
Its beautiful tint is traced to another source by a 
modern poet: 
As erst, in Eden’s blissful bowers. 
Young Eve survey’d her countless flowers, 
An opening Rose of purest white 
She marked with eye that beam’d delight. 
Its leaves she kiss’d, and straight it drew 
From beauty’s lip the vermeil hue. 
Oarev, 
