FAREWELL TO THE ROSE .

G O , Rose — in gaudy gardens wilt thou bloom,
Far from the silent vale of peace and love?
On fluttering insects lavish waste perfume,
Or deck the fickle wreath that folly wove?

And yet the fragrance of thy evening hour,
Ambrosial odours, yet to me refuse?
To me, who pay thy sweets, ungrateful flow'r!
With rich returns of incense from the Muse? —

Who but the Muse transplants thee, short-liv'd Rose!
From mortal regions to celestial seats?
By memory's fountain, where thy buds disclose
Eternal beauties, with eternal sweets.