The Rose of Sharon

From the Richmond Compiler
We are indebted to a friend for a copy of the following verses, written by a Lady of this City.
I am the Rose of Sharon,
and the Lilly of the Valley
Sol-Songs, Chap. 2-1

Go, warrior! pluck the laural bough,
And bind it round thy reeking brow;
The sons of Pleasure, blithly twine
A chaplet of the purple vine;
And Beauty, cull each blushing flower,
That ever deck'd thy sylvian bower,
No wreathe is bright, no garland fair,
Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there.
The laural branch will droop and die,
The vine its purple fruit deny;
The wreatth that smiling Beauty twin'd,
Will leave no lingering bud behind;
For beauty's wreath, and beauty's bloom,
In vain would shun the withering tomb,
Where nought is bright and nought is fair,
Unless sweet Sharon's Rose be there.

Bright blossom of immortal bloom,
Of fadless hue and sweet perfume
Far in the desart's dreary waste,
In love neglected beauty plac'd.
Let others seek the blushing bower,
And cull the frail and fading flower -
But I'll to dreariest wilds repair,
If Sharon's deathless Rose be there.

When nature's hand with cunning care,
No more the opening bud shall rear,
But hurled by heaven's avenging Sire,
Discards the eartly consuming fire,
And desolations hurrying blast
O'er all the saddened scene had past,
There is a clime, forever fair
And Sharon's Rose shall flourish there.

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