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Spring's darling, nature's pride, the sylvan's

queen

To her at eve enamour'd Zephyr glideth, Trembling, she bids him waft aside her screen, And to his kisses wakes-the Flora of the scene.

THE NARCISSUS.

BY GAY.

HERE young Narcissus o'er the fountain stood,
And view'd his image in the crystal flood;
The crystal. flood reflects his lovely charms,
And the pleased image strives to meet his arms.
No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued,
Echo in vain the flying boy pursued.

Himself alone, the foolish youth admires,
And with fond look the smiling shade desires;
O'er the smooth lake with fruitless tears he

grieves ;

His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves;
Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows,
And in a short-lived flower his beauty blows.
Let vain Narcissus warn each female breast,
That beauty's but a transient good at best;
Like flowers it withers with th' advancing year,
And age like winter robs the blooming fair.

A SONG OF THE RGSE.

BY MRS. HEMANS.

ROSE! what dost thou here?
Bridal, royal rose?

How, 'midst grief and fear,

Canst thou thus disclose

That fervid hue of love which to thy heart-leaf

glows?

Rose! too much array'd

For triumphal hours,

Look'st thou through the shade

Of these mortal bowers,

Not to disturb my soul, thou crown'd one of all flowers!

As an eagle soaring

Through a sunny sky,

As a clarion pouring

Notes of victory,

So dost thou kindle thoughts, for earthly life too

high

Thoughts of rapture, flushing

Youthful poet's cheek,

Thoughts of glory rushing

Forth in song to break,

But finding the spring-tide of rapid song too weak.

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Yet, oh! festal rose,

I have seen thee lying

In thy bright repose

Pillow'd with the dying,

Thy crimson by the life's quick blood was flying.

Summer, hope, and love

O'er that bed of pain,

Meet in thee, yet wove

Too, too frail a claim

In its embracing links the lovely to detain.

Smilest thou, gorgeous flower ?-
O! within the spells

Of thy beauty's power

Something dimly dwells,

At variance with a world of sorrows and farewells.

All the soul forth flowing

In that rich perfume,
All the proud life glowing

In that radiant bloom,

Have they no place but here, beneath th' o'er

shadowing tomb?

Crown'st thou but the daughters

Of our tearful race?

Heaven's own purest waters

Well might bear the trace

Of thy consummate form, melting to softer grace.

Will that clime enfold thee
With immortal air?

Shall we not behold thee

Bright and deathless there?

In spirit-lustre clothed, transcendently more fair?

Yes! my fancy sees thee

In that light disclose,

And its dream thus frees thee
From the mist of woes,

Darkening thine earthly bowers, O bridal, royal

rose.

THE ROSE.

FROM BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

OF all flowers.

Methinks a rose is best .....

It is the very emblem of a maid;

For when the west wind courts her gently,

How modestly she blows, and paints the sun

With her chaste blushes! When the north comes

near her,

Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,

She locks her beauties in her bud again,

And leaves him to base briers.

THE CAPTIVE AND THE FLOWERS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

CAPTIVE.

A FLOWER that's wondrous fair, I know,

My bosom holds it dear;

To seek that flower I long to go,

But am imprison'd here.

'Tis no light grief oppresses me;

For in the days my steps were free,
I had it always near.

Far round the tower I send mine eye
The tower so steep and tall;
But nowhere can the flower descry
From this high castle wall;
And him who'll bring me my desire,
Or be he knight, or be he squire,
My dearest friend I'll call.

ROSE.

My blossoms near thee I disclose,
And hear thy wretched plight;

Thou meanest me, no doubt, the rose

Thou noble, hapless knight.

A lofty mind in thee is seen,

And in thy bosom reigns the queen

Of flowers, as is her right.

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