Classic Poem

THE ROSE-TREE.

With awe and pleasure we behold thy sweets;
Thy lovely roses have their pointed guards;
Yet, tho' the gath'rer opposition meets,
The fragrant purchase all his pain rewards.

But hedg'd about and watch'd with wary eyes,
O plant superior, beautiful, and fair!
We view thee like yon stars which gem the skies,
But equally to gain we must despair.

Ah! wert thou growing on some secret plain,
And found by me, how ravish'd would I meet
All thy transporting charms to ease my pain,
And feast my raptur'd soul on all that 's sweet.

Thus sung poor Symon. — Symon was in love,
His too aspiring passion made him smart;
The rose-tree was a mistress far above
The shepherd's hope, which broke his tender heart.