Page:Translations from Camoens; and Other Poets.pdf/38



WEET rose! whose tender foliage to expand, Her fostering dews the morning lightly shed, Whilst gales of balmy breath thy blossoms fanned, And o'er thy leaves the soft suffusion spread;

That hand, whose care withdrew thee from the ground, To brighter worlds thy favoured charms hath borne; Thy fairest buds, with grace perennial crowned, There breathe and bloom, released from every thorn.

Thus, far removed, and now, transplanted flower! Exposed no more to blast or tempest rude, Sheltered with tenderest care from frost or shower, And each rough season's chill vicissitude, Now may thy form in bowers of peace assume Immortal fragrance, and unwithering bloom.