HAVING PROMISED TO WRITE A FEW LINES ON ANY
GIVEN MOTTO, THE ABOVE WAS CHOSEN.
I KNOW not what whim has your fancy possest,
If serious you speak, or are only in jest,
When this of all mottos you think is the best,
Sub Rosa.
In the mirror of truth, prithee say, is it shown?
Or is it but guess’d by your fancy alone,
That pleasure, true pleasure, can only be known
Sub Rosa?
O haste then, O hasten to yon blooming bower,
And carefully bring me this magical flower;
This secret to prove of such wonderful power–
Sub Rosa.
Young Love, listening near, heard the order I gave;
And drest as a Page, he, a sly little knave,
Stole soft, for he dared not a feather to wave,
Sub Rosa.
But when to the bower of roses he came,
What joy fillI’d his heart! Oh, it wanted a name!
For hetriumphs in mischief when shelter’d from shame
Sub Rosa.
He skipp’d and he revel’d the roses among,
Cried “This flower’s too faded, and that bud’s too young,”
Whilst in anger the leaves of another he flung
Sub Rosa.
As still he went on, cull’d a leaf or a flower,
And doubting what proof he should give of his power,
Fair Venus his mother appear’d in the bower
Sub Rosa.
“Dear Boy,” she exclaim’d, “as a proof of thy art,
“Of thy power to subdue when most guarded the heart,
“Instead of a thorn, place a sharp-pointed dart,
“Sub Rosa.”
This exquisite mischief was form’d to delight:
He kiss’d her in rapture, and swift took his flight,
And I scarce held the gift, ere he hid from my sight
Sub Rosa.
There watch’d he in ambush the proof of his art,
As the beautiful flower I press’d to my heart:
Yet I touch’d but the leaves, so felt not the dart
Sub Rosa.
To think by his art he had dealt me a wound,
He laugh’d; but the urchin I traced by the sound,
And, to punish his tricks, the young miscreant bound
Sub Rosa.
Though sweet are his fetters, and silken his chain,
Yet the rash little knave still dares to complain;
For his arrow he left, and can never regain,
Sub Rosa.
(Mrs. Walter Spencer)
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