THE DYING ROSE.

———

BY MRS. E. J. EAMES.

———

The Queen of the Flowers sat on her throne,

But the rosy gems from her crown were falling—

A paleness was over her beauty thrown,

For she heard the death-spirit on her calling!

Lowly she bent her royal head,

And mourned in tones of plaintive sweetness

That mortals should call her the fading rose—

The rose of early, perishing fleetness!

“Ungrateful man! do I not make

My span of life, though short, delicious?

And yield you rich perfumes after death?

But there is no bound to human wishes

I see all my sister flow’rets fade,

In their blighted beauty around me lying;

Yet only of me ’tis sung, and said—

Alas! for the rose—so early dying!”

“Be not displeased with us, loveliest one”—

Said a fair young maiden standing by her—

“ ’Tis not that thy race is so swiftly run,

But we wish that thy destiny were higher:

We see all the flowers around us die—

And deem it their fate; but thee, their sovereign,

We would give a lovelier home on high,

With sister spirits around thee hov’ring!

“Then call not that thankless, which is in truth

The prompting of tender and true affection;

And pardon the sorrow, with which our youth

Sees ever in thee but a sad reflection!

For all the beauty and joy of our life—

All the loves and the hopes we so fondly cherish,

We liken to thee—and when they fade

We say—‘Like the Rose, how soon they perish!’ ”