The Last Rose of Summer. 'Tis the last rose of summer, Left blooming alone, All her lovely companions Are faded and gone! No flow'r of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To pine on the stem, Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them; Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves on the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle The gems drop away! When true hearts lie withered, And fond ones are flown, Oh! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? ECCE ultima rosa Nec rubet ex omnibus Una cognatis! In hortu, heu! sola Suspirans marcescit, Nam flos qui confleret, Jam diu discessit. Non sinam te miseram, Sic deperire, Te condormire ; Supra rosetum, Sic peream, caris Cum fuerim orbatus Nec orbis Amoris, Fulgebit gemmatus ! In mundo horrendo, Quis ultro maneret Carisque egeret. And oft in their hills and green valleys, Look up with delight in their face. This old Irish jig, too, was danced By the kings and the great men of yore, And sure when Herodias' daughter Was dancing in King Herod's sight, I heard Father Flanagan tell That pleased the old villain so well. Et sæpe in colli seu valle Saltantibus, sicut est mos, Tripudio quondam nostrorum Sonantibus Rory O'Moore Suæ citharæ sonitu. Herodem vix unquam placatum Movere Herodias scit; Omnino abjiceret spem. |