Richmond Enquirer

From the Federal Republican [Bulletin-Telegraph.]

THE SWEETBRIAR'S ROSE.

Ah, who will say the desert's bare,
While this wild bloom doth open there,
This sweetly fragrant rose?
Its bosom with the morning's gales:
Around its leaf sweet incense flies,
Before its promise blows.
The garden rose is sweet in flower.
Its blushing breast doth excuse pour
Upon the summer's wind;
But pluck the flower, the charm is fled,
Its leaf did never fragrance shed,
No sweetness there you'll find.
Not so the desert's laughing rose;
Its leaf doth still a bliss disclose,
When plucked its modest flower;
Its tree is one continued sweet,
That sighs upon its loved retreat,
And blesses ev'ry hour.
Pale Autumn cannot chill its breath,
Its fragrance knows no moment's death
Through all the varied year:
Its flow'rs like garden roses die,
But still its root throws round its sigh,
While one green leaf is there.
CLAUDIAN.