National Lyrics, and Songs for Music/The Ivy Song
THE IVY-SONG.
Written on receiving some Ivy-leaves, gathered from the ruined Castle of Rheinfels on the Rhine.
THE IVY-SONG.
Oh! how could fancy crown with thee
In ancient days the God of Wine,
And bid thee at the banquet be
Companion of the vine?
Ivy! thy home is where each sound
Of revelry hath long been o'er,
Where song and beaker once went round,
But now are known no more.
Where long-fallen gods recline,
There the place is thine.
The Roman on his battle-plains,
Where Kings before his eagles bent,
With thee, amidst exulting strains,
Shadow'd the victor's tent:
Tho' shining there in deathless green,
Triumphally thy boughs might wave,
Better thou lov'st the silent scene
Around the victor's grave.
Urn and sculpture half divine
Yield their place to thine.
The cold halls of the regal dead,
Where lone th' Italian sunbeams dwell,
Where hollow sounds the lightest tread—
Ivy! they know thee well!
And far above the festal vine,
Thou wav'st where once proud banners hung,
Where mouldering turrets crest the Rhine
—The Rhine, still fresh and young!
Tower and rampart o'er the Rhine
—Ivy! all are thine!
High from the fields of air look down
Those Eyries of a vanish'd race,
Where harp, and battle, and renown,
Have pass'd, and left no trace.
But thou art there!—serenely bright,
Meeting the mountain storms with bloom,
Thou that will climb the loftiest height,
Or crown the lowliest tomb!
Ivy, Ivy! all are thine,
Palace, hearth, and shrine.
'Tis still the same; our pilgrim tread
O'er classic plains, thro' deserts free,
On the mute path of ages fled,
Still meets decay and thee.
And still let man his fabrics rear,
August in beauty, stern in power,
—Days pass—thou Ivy never sere!*[1]
And thou shalt have thy dower.
All are thine, or must be thine—
—Temple, pillar, shrine!
- ↑
*Ye Myrtles brown, and Ivy never sere.—Lycides.