I SAW the wild rose on its parent thorn,
Half clos'd, soft blushing, thro' the glitt'ring dew,
Wave on the breeze, and scent the breath of morn;
Lelia, the lovely flow'r resembled you.
Scarce had it spread to meet the orb of day,
Its fragrant beauties op'ning to the view,
When ruffian blasts have torn the rose away;
Lelia--alas! it still resembles you!
So, torn, by wild and lawless passion's force,
From every social tie, thy lot must be;
At best oblivion shades thy future course,
And still the hapless flow'r resembles thee!