RECITATIVE .

M Y Stella sleeps, the sultry hour
Seals her soft eye-lids in the bower,
And see, the snowy rose she wore
Is fallen upon the verdant floor.

AIR .

Ah Rose, thou hast fled from a throne
Where thy fairness and scent are out-done,
And the graces that rival thy own
Thy envy has taught thee to shun.

And O! since thy thorns might annoy
A breast all the graces adorn,
To the mansion of love and of joy,
Pale Rover! thou shalt not return.