Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep? Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? No, no, this sorrow shown By your tears shed Would have this lecture read: That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 258. HOW ROSES CAME RED. Roses at first were white, Till they could not agree, Whether my Sappho's breast Or they more white should be. But, being vanquish'd quite, A blush their cheeks bespread; Since which, believe the rest, The roses first came red. 259. COMFORT TO A LADY UPON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND. Dry your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's rain, Since, clouds dispers'd, suns gild the air again. Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and overboil, But turn soon after calm as balm or oil. Winds have their time to rage; but when they cease The leafy trees nod in a still-born peace. Your storm is over; lady, now appear Like to the peeping springtime of the year. Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on, And flow and flame in your vermilion. Upon your cheek sat icicles awhile; Now let the rose reign like a queen, and smile. 260. HOW VIOLETS CAME BLUE. Love on a day, wise poets tell, Some time in wrangling spent, Whether the violets should excel, Or she, in sweetest scent. But Venus having lost the day, Poor girls, she fell on you: And beat ye so, as some dare say, Her blows did make ye blue. 262. TO THE WILLOW-TREE. Thou art to all lost love the best, The only true plant found, Wherewith young men and maids distres't, And left of love, are crown'd. When once the lover's rose is dead, Or laid aside forlorn: Then willow-garlands 'bout the head Bedew'd with tears are worn. When with neglect, the lovers' bane, Poor maids rewarded be, For their love lost, their only gain Is but a wreath from thee. And underneath thy cooling shade, When weary of the light, The love-spent youth and love-sick maid Come to weep out the night. 263. MRS. ELIZ. WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF THE LOST SHEPHERDESS.