THE PRETTY ROSE TREE. 
Being weary of love, 
I flew to the grove, 
And chose me a tree of the fairest; 
Saying, “ Pretty Rose Tree, 
Thou my mistress shall be, 
And I’ll worship each bud that thou bearcst. 
Eor the hearts of the World are hollow 
Arid fickle the smiles We follow ; 
And ’tis sweet Wheri all ' 
Their witch’ries pall, 
To have a pure love to fly to : 
So my pretty Rose Tree,' 
Thou my mistress shalt be, 
And the only one now I shall sigh to.” 
Thomas MoorB. 
