TO THE SWEET-BRIER. | 
BY J. G. C. BRAINARD. | 
She sweet autumnal western-scented wind 
tobs of its odours none so sweet a flower, 
In all the blooming waste it left behind, 
As that sweet-brier yields it; and the shower 
Wets not a rose that buds in beauty’s bower 
One half so lovely; yet it grows along | 
The poor girl’s pathway; by the poor man’s (| 
door. 
k Such ar . the simple folks it dwells among; 
And humble as the bud, so humble be the song. 
ws 

I love it, for it takes its untouch’d stand | 
Not in the vase that sculptors decorate 
Its sweetness all is of my native land; 
And e’en its fragrant leaf has not-its mate | 
|| Among the Pe erfumes which the rich and great | 
| Bring from the odours of the spicy East. | 
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) . 
il You love your flowers and plants and will you 
\| | 
| nate 
“he little four-leaved rose that I love best, 
That freshest willawake, and sweetest go to rest 

