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, Himself alone, the foolish youth admires, grieves ; His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves; A SONG OF THE RGSE. BY MRS. HEMANS. ROSE! what dost thou here? 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. 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 ?- 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, 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 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 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, Far round the tower I send mine eye ROSE. My blossoms near thee I disclose, 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. |