184
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.
