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BRING FLOWERS.

RING flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is poured;

vale,

Bring flowers!-they are springing in wood and

Their breath floats out in the southern gale,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path—
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath!
He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vine lies crushed in his chariot's track,
The turf looks red where he won the day—
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell;
Of the free blue streams and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye!
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth-bring him flowers, wild flowers!

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear !
They were born to blush in her shining hair;
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth,
Her place is now by another's side-

Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!

Bring flowers, pale flowers, on her bier to shed
A crown for the brow of the early dead;

For this through its leaves hath the white rose burst;
For this in the woods was the violet nursed:

Though they smile in vain for what once was ours;
They are Love's last gift-bring ye flowers, pale flowers!

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are Nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,

They break forth in glory-bring flowers, bright flowers!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE ROSE.

PS the Rose of the valley when dripping with dew, Is the sweetest in odour, and brightest in hue; So the glance of dear woman most lovely appears When it beams from her eloquent eye through her tears!

ANONYMOUS.

THE ROSE.

HE 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.

SCOTT.

THE ROSE.

【HE Rose, the sweetly-blooming rose,
Ere from the tree 'tis torn,

Is like the charms which beauty shows,

In life's exulting morn.

But, oh! how soon its sweets are gone,
How soon it withering lies!

So, when the eve of life comes on,
Sweet beauty fades and dies.

Then since the fairest form that's made

Soon withering we shall find,

Let us possess what ne'er will fade

The beauties of the mind.

C. J. FOX.

THE ROSE.

HE Rose had been washed, just washed in a shower,
Which Mary to Anna conveyed;

The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower,

And weighed down its beautiful head.

The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seemed, to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret,
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapped it-it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resigned.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloomed with its owner a while; And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be followed, perhaps, by a smile.

COWPER

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