Beauty And Song.

Down in yon summer vale, Where the rill flows. Thus said a Nightingale To his loved Rose:— "Tho' rich the pleasures "Of song's sweet measures, "Vain were its melody, "Rose, without thee." Then from the green recess Of her night-bower, Beaming with bashfulness, Spoke the bright flower:— "Tho' morn should lend her "Its sunniest splendor, "What would the Rose be, "Unsung by thee?" Thus still let Song attend Woman's bright way; Thus still let woman lend Light to the lay. Like stars thro' heaven's sea Floating in harmony Beauty should glide along Circled by Song.