And roseate teints are ever seen
To bloom the cheeks of beauty's queen.
Its power to sooth the pangs of pain[1]
Physicians try, nor try in vain;
And e'en when life and hope are fled
Its deathless scent embalms the dead:
For, though its withering charms decay,
And, one by one, all fade away,
Its grateful smell the rose retains,
And redolent of youth remains.[2]
But, lyrist, let it next be sung
From whence this precious treasure sprung—
When first from ocean's dewy spray
Fair Venus rose to upper day;
When, fearful to the powers above,
The armed Pallas sprung from Jove;
'Twas then they say the jealous earth
First gave the lovely stranger birth.
A drop of pure nectareous dew
From heaven the bless'd immortals threw;
A while it trembled on the thorn,
And then the lovely rose was born.
To Bacchus they the flower assign,
And roses still his brows intwine.
ODE LIV.—ON HIMSELF.
While I view the youthful throng,
Fancy whispers I am young!
To the merry dance I fly,
Who so gay, so brisk as I?
Haste, Cybele, bring me flowers,
Bring sweet roses from the bowers;
