LOVE’S WREATH. 
BY MOORE 
W wen Love was a child, and went idling round 
1s flowers the whole summer’s day, 
One morn in the valley a bower he found, 
; yeet, it allured him to stay. 


©’ erhead from the trees hung a garland fair, 
A fountain ran darkly beneath ; 
*T‘was Pleasure that hung the bright flowers ux 
there, 
Love knew it and jump’d at the wreath. 
But Love did not know—and at his weak years, 
What urchin was likely to know ?— 
. ce aiaieotnae It 1 
That sorrow had made of her own salt eee 
That fountain which murmur’d below 
He caught at the wreath, but with too much haste, 
As boys when impatient will do ; 
{t fell in those waters of briny taste, 
And the flowers were all wet through. 
Yet this is the wreath he wears night and day ; 
And though it all sunny appears 
With Pleasure’s own lustre, each leaf, they say, 
Sull tastes of the fountain o* tears, 




