THE ROSE.

As through a garden late I roved,
And musing walked along,
While list'ning to the blackbird's note,

Or linnet's cheerful song;

Around were flowers of various hues ;

The pink and daisy pied; When, in the centre of a grove, A blushing rose I spied.

Eager to pluck the beauteous flower,
I quickly hastened there;
Securely in my bosom placed,

And watched with tender care.

Its fragrant odours grateful were,
And pleasant to the sense;

Its leaves with brightest colours glowed
Like virgin innocence.

But, lo, ere evening dews descend,

Those beauteous tints were fled; Withered and blasted in their prime, And drooped its tow'ring head.

Sweet blossom! then I sighing said,
How soon thy beauties die;
The fairest flower the garden knows,
With thee in vain would vie.

Be thou my silent monitor,

And warn my heedless youth,

The graces of the mind to seek,
In piety and truth.

For outward charms of shape or face
Soon wither, like the rose;

But virtue, lovely e'en in death,

Fresh beauties will disclose.

ORIGINAL.

THE YOUNG ROSE.

THE young Rose which I gave thee, so dewy und bright,
Was the flow'ret most dear to the sweet bird of night;
Who oft by the moon o'er her blushes hath hung,
And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung.

Oh! take, then, this young Rose, and let her life be, Prolonged by her breath she will borrow from thee! For while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

A ROSE-BUD, by my early walk,
Adown a corn-inclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush, her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast

Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string, or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray,
That watch'd thy carly morning.

BURNS.

THE ROSE OF SUMMER.

CHILD of the Summer, charming Rose,
No longer in confinement lie;
Arise to light, thy form disclose,
Rival the spangles of the sky.

The rains are gone, the storms are o'er,
Winter retires to make thee way :
Come, then, thou sweetly-blushing flow'r,
Come, lovely stranger, come away.

The sun is dress'd in beaming smiles,
To give thy beauties to the day;
Young zephyrs wait with gentle gales,
To fan thy bosom as they play.

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CASSIMIR.

THE DOG ROSE.

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 in tears.
O, wilding Rose, whom fancy thus endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through future years.

LADY OF THE LAKE.

THE MOSS-ROSE.

(Rosa muscosa.)

THE Rosebud swelled in Sharon's vale,
And bloom'd in Eden beauteously,
It drank the breath of southern gale,

It prov'd the warmth of summer sky;
But o'er thy growth no summer rose,
But drifted lay the untrodden snows.

The Rose of England beamed of yore,
In lily and in crimson hue;
Its bloom was dipped in human gore,

And sullied were its leaves to view;
Bnt thou hast spread amidst the storm,
In stainless purity thy form.

Sweet innocence! by mercy fed,

With light, and warmth, and shelter meet; Whilst winter all his horrors sped,

In drifted snow and driving slect; Thus have I seen, in maiden form, A beauteous nursling of the storm!