SONNET CCVII.

Two brilliant roses, fresh from Paradise, Which there, on May-day morn, in beauty sprung Fair gift, and by a lover old and wise Equally offer'd to two lovers young: At speech so tender and such winning guise, As transports from a savage might have wrung, A living lustre lit their mutual eyes, And instant on their cheeks a soft blush hung. The sun ne'er look'd upon a lovelier pair, With a sweet smile and gentle sigh he said, Pressing the hands of both and turn'd away. Of words and roses each alike had share. E'en now my worn heart thrill with joy and dread, O happy eloquence! O blessed day! Macgregor.