ROSE, MOSS.

Rosa Muscosa.

LANGUAGE - SUPERIOR MERIT.

FONDLY the wheeling fireflies flew around her,

Those little glitterers of the London night; But none of these possessed a sting to wound herShe was a pitch beyond a coxcomb's flight.

It is sure,

BYRON.

Stamped by the seal of nature, that the well
Of mind, where all its waters gather pure,
Shall, with unquestioned spell, all hearts allure.
Wisdom enshrined in Beauty O, how high
The order of that loveliness!

Ah, friend! to dazzle let the vain design;

PERCIVAL.

To raise the thought, and touch the heart, be thine!
This charm will grow, while that fatigues the ring,
Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing.
So, when the sun's broad beam has tired the sight,
All mild ascends the moon's more sober light;
Serene in virgin modesty she shines,

And unobserved the glaring orb declines.

All that hath been majestical

In life or death, since time began,
Is native in the simple heart of all
The angel heart of man.

POPE.

J. R. LOWELL.

ROSEBUD, MOSS.

Rosa Muscosa.

LANGUAGE CONFESSION OF LOVE.

In my heart there is a holy spot,

As 'mid the waste an isle of fount and palm, Forever green! the world's breath enters not; The passion tempest may not break its calm: 'Tis thine, all thine.

"Yes!" O, it is a kind reply,
When flowing from the lips of dear,
Young beauty-in whose ear we sigh
The one fond wish.

MRS. HEMANS.

We never speak our deepest feelings;
Our holiest hopes have no revealings
Save in the gleams that light the face,
Or fancies that the pen may trace;
Or when we use, like Love, the flowers
To mark our thoughts, as he the hours.

ANON.

MRS. HALE.

Love has a fleeter messenger than speech,
To tell love's meaning. His expresses post
Upon the orbs of vision, ere the tongue
Can shape them into words.

G. COLMAN, JR.

ROSEBUD, WHITE.

Rosa Alba.

LANGUAGE-TOO YOUNG TO LOVE..

HER bosom was a soft retreat
For love, and love alone,
And yet her heart had never beat
To love's delicious tone;

It dwelt within its circle free

From tender thoughts like these,
Waiting the little deity,

As the blossom waits the breeze,
Before it throws its leaves apart,
And trembles like a love-touched heart.

O, why delay the happy time?
The hours glide swiftly by,
And oft we see a sombre cloud
Obscure the fairest sky.

Then while the morn is rosy bright,

Accept my earnest vow;

And O, believe me, dearest maid,
Love's time, love's time, is now.

Gather the rosebuds while ye may;

Old time is still a-flying;

MRS. WELBY.

P. BENJAMIN.

And that same flower that blooms to-day
To-morrow shall be dying.

HERRICK.

ROSE, YELLOW.

Rosa Lutea.

LANGUAGE-WE WILL BE STRANGERS.

THEY tell me 'tis decided; you depart :
'Tis wise, 'tis well, but not the less a pain ;
I have no further claim on your young heart
Mine is the victim, and would be again ;
To love too much has been the only art

I used: I write in haste, and if a stain

Be on this sheet, 'tis not what it appears;

;

My eyeballs burn and throb, but have no tears.

I ask not what change

Has come over thy heart;

I seek not whạt chances

Have doomed us to part;

I know thou hast told me

To love thee no more,
And I still must obey

Where I once did adore.

And must we part? Well, let it be!

'Tis better thus; O, yes! believe me!

For though I still was true to thee,

BYRON.

HOFFMAN.

Thou, faithless maiden, wouldst deceive me. Take back this written pledge of love! No more I'll to my bosom fold it; The ring you gave, your faith to prove,

I can't return because I've sold it.

ANON.

The same sweet being, bright and fair,
With beaming eyes and auburn hair,
That once did my young heart insnare,
Margery!

Thou wast a flower that faded soon,
Margery!

A star that waned before night's noon
Did come to thee.

Admiring eyes were strained to know
The heavenly light thou didst bestow,
And grieved that thou so soon must go,
Margery!

I still remain, and cares are mine,
Margery!

Yet, as I weakly would repine,

I think of thee;

The halcyon scenes we trod of yore,

Thoughts that with sweet romance ran o'er,
And all blest things thou dost restore,

Margery!

W. DEARBORN.