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That love which changed—for wan disease, 
For sorrow that had bent, 
O’er hopeless dust, for withered age— 
Their moral element, 
And turned the thistles of a curse 
To types beneficent. 

TASES ROSE, 
BY SPENSER. 
AH! see the virgin Rose, how sweetly she 
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty, 
That fairer seems the less ye see her way ! 
Lo! see soon after, how more bold and free 
Her baréd bosom she doth broad display ; 
Lo! see soon after, how she fades away and falls. 
Aer Bs VO desEe, 
BY ‘Lo Ey a. 
Why better than the lady Rose 
Love I this little flower ? 
Because its fragrant leaves are those 
I loved in childhood’s hour, 
Though many a flower may win my praise, 
The Violet has my love ; 
I did not pass my childish days 
In garden or in grove. 
My garden was the window-seat, 
Upon whose edge was set 
A little vase—the fair, the sweet— 
It was the Violet, 
