Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The slightest of favours bestow'd by the fair
With rapture we take, and with transport we wear;
But a moss-woven rose-bud, Eliza, from thee,
A well-pleasing gift to a monarch would be:
—Ah! that illness, too cruel, forbidding should stand,
And refuse me the gift from thine own lovely hand!

II

With joy I receive it, with pleasure will view,
Reminded of thee by its odour and hue;
“Sweet rose! let me tell thee, tho' charming thy bloom,
“Tho' thy fragrance exceeds Saba's richest perfume;
“Thy breath to Eliza's hath no fragrance in't;
“And thy bloom is but dull to her cheek's blushing tint.

III

“Yet alas! my fair flower, that bloom will decay,
“And all thy fine beauties soon wither away;
“Though pluck'd by her hand, to whose touch thou must own,
“Harsh and rough is the cygnet's most delicate down:

203

“Thou too, snowy hand;—nay, I mean not to preach;
“But the rose, lovely moralist! suffer to teach.”

IV

“Extol not, fond maiden, thy beauties o'er mine,
“They too are short-liv'd, and they too must decline;
“And small in conclusion, the difference appears
“In the bloom of few days, or the bloom of few years!
“But remember a virtue, the rose hath to boast,
“—Its Fragrance remains, when its Beauties are lost.”