Chapter 88 A
Rose from Homer's GraveALL the songs of the east speak of the love of the
nightingale for the rose in the silent starlight night. The winged
songster serenades the fragrant flowers.
Not far from Smyrna, where the merchant drives his loaded
camels, proudly arching their long necks as they journey beneath
the lofty pines over holy ground, I saw a hedge of roses. The
turtle-dove flew among the branches of the tall trees, and as the
sunbeams fell upon her wings, they glistened as if they were
mother-of-pearl. On the rose-bush grew a flower, more beautiful
than them all, and to her the nightingale sung of his woes; but the
rose remained silent, not even a dewdrop lay like a tear of
sympathy on her leaves. At last she bowed her head over a heap of
stones, and said, "Her
