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ROSE. 97 


















Spenser has bequeathed us a very felicitous: stanza 
about the rose as an emblem of modesty and fragility : 
** Ah ! see the virgin rose, how sweetly she 
Doth first peep forth with bashful modesty, 
That fairer seems the less ye see her may ! 
Lo ! see soon after how, more bold and free, 
Her baréd bosom she doth broad display ! 
Lo ! see soon after how she fades and falls away!” 
Sir Walter Scott tells us : 
** The rose is fairest when ’tis budding new, 
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; 
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, 
And love is loveliest when embalmed with tears.” 
THE DYING ROSEBUD. 
MRS. OSGOOD. 
Aw me! ah, woe is me! 
That I should perish now, 
With the dear sunlight just let in 
Upon my balmy brow. 
5 EATER SNE EET 
REET ny a a 
My leaves, instinct with glowing life, 
Were quivering to unclose ; 
My happy heart with love was rife— 
I was almost a rose. 
Nerved by a hope, rich, warm, intense, 
Already I had risen 
Above my cage’s curving fence, 
My green and graceful prison. 
9) 

