Espy’d it waving in the glade.
Eager to seize the envy’d rose,
And with it deck her glowing breast;
She left her charge, forsook repose,
And pluck’d it from its thorny nest.
That instant droop’d its spreading leaves,
And soon its beauteous colours fled;
In vain Cecilia’s bosom heaves,
For with its charms the rose is dead.
So the fair damsel in her prime,