IV.
In the month of flowers,
When flaunting in thy pride,
Crimson-robéd Queen,
I shall place thee side by side;
Then, Cupid, come and tell me,
On thy judgment I'll repose,
Which is fairest, brightest,
Amarilla or the Rose?
Stay! here is Venus coming,
The goddess will decide—
Ah! tis not the Paphian Queen,
But Amarilla, my young Bride!
BUDRIS AND HIS SONS
FROM THE RUSSIAN.