IV

4 0 00

IV

And, close beside this aged Thorn,

There is a fresh and lovely sight,

A beauteous heap, a Hill of moss,

Just half a foot in height.

All lovely colours there you see,

All colours that were ever seen;

And mossy net-work too is there,

As if by hand of lady fair

The work had woven been;

And cups, the darlings of the eye,

So deep is their vermilion dye.