There was a little Rose-bush, where the brook flows,
With two little rose-buds and one full rose,
The breath of their spirits shed forth sweet smell,
That filled like a melody the air of the dell.
When the sun went down to his bed in the west,
The little Buds leaned on the Rose-mother's breast,
And the mother and the sisters; all night long,
Looked up to the heavens and their far bright throng,
And silently, in odors, they communed with each other,
Bent lovingly and meek on the bosom of their mother.
“O mother!" said the little one, with pouting red lips.
"I would that the Dew-fay that o'er the mead trips,
Would bring me a Star when the day comes dim.
And God does'nt need them to burn round Him.'"'
Just then a tiny dew-drop, that hung o'er the dell,
In the heart of the Bud like a star-beam fell;
But impatiently she flung it away from her leaf,
And it fell on the mother like the tear of its grief ;
While she to her bosom with scornful pride,
Folded a Fire-fly that came by her side.
"Heed!" said the Mother-rose, "Budling mine!
Reach not forth for the good not thine;
Nothing is thine which makes not thee,
All other gain thy loss shall be."
The poor little bud with a deadlier hug,
Maugre the mother's words, clung to the Bug,
Till the straggling insect tore the vest
Of purple and green which veiled her breast.
The morn came up, and she noted with grief
The blooming of her sister-bud, leaf by leaf,
As the cold dew mingled with all her heart,
And grew of her beauty and life a part;
While she, as fair and sweet at first,
Hung her head all faint with wounding and thirst.
Bright grew the sunshine; poor little Bud!
How drooped her form with its languid blood,
Till from the mother's heart, where it lay hid,
Into her own the dew-drop slid.
Night came back — the fire-flies flew,
But she let them pass, and drank of the dew.
The Lesson