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A Rose, the poet's favourite flower,
From FLORA's cultured walks he bore;
No fairer bloomed in ESHER's bower,
Nor PRIOR's charming CHLOE wore.

No fairer flowers could FANCY twine
To hide ANACREON's snowy hair;
For there ALMERIA's bloom divine,

And ELLIOT's sweetest blush was there.

When she, the pride of courts, retires,

And leaves for shades, a nation's love,

With awe the village maid admires,

How WALDEGRAVE looks, how WALDE

GRAVE moves.

So marvelled much in ENON'S shade
The flowers that all uncultured grew,
When there the splendid Rose displayed
Her swelling breast, and shining hue.

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Yet one, that oft adorned the place
Where now her gaudy rival reigned,
Of simpler bloom, but kindred race,
The pensive EGLANTINE complained.—

"Mistaken youth," with sighs she said, "From nature and from me to stray! "The bard, by splendid forms betrayed, "No more shall frame the purer lay.

"Luxuriant, like the flaunting Rose, "And gay the brilliant strains may be, "But far, in beauty, far from those, "That flowed to nature and to me."

The poet felt with fond surprise,

The truths the sylvan critic told; And "though this courtly Rose," he cries, "Is gay, is beauteous to behold;

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Yet, lovely flower, I find in thee

"Wild sweetness which no words express, "And charms in thy simplicity,

"That dwell not in the pride of dress."

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THE VIOLET AND THE PANSY.

SHEPHERD, if near thy artless breast The God of fond desires repair; Implore him for a gentle guest,

Implore him with unwearied prayer.

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