HISTORICAL AND LITERARY MEMORANDA. 



15 



The same idea occurred to Keats when describing the preparations for the worship 

 of the " great god Pan " 



" Close after these, 



Now coming from beneath the forest trees, 



A venerable priest full soberly, 



Begirt with ministering looks : alway his eye 



Steadfast upon the matted turf he kept, 



And after him his sacred vestment swept. 



From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white, 



Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light; 



And in his left he held a basket full 



Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull : 



Wild thyme, and valley -lilies whiter still 



Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill. 



His aged head, crown' d with beechen wreath, 



Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth 



Of winter hoar." 1 



Mention of the ivy occurs only four times in all the works of Shakspere, 

 and he never alludes to it as representing or restoring the " light of other days." 

 This has been attempted by a later and a feebler pen with some degree of success, 

 as will be seen by the pleasing verses of Mrs. Hemans that follow : 



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 ? 

 Thy home, wild plant, is where each sound 



Of revelry hath long been o'er ; 

 Where song's full notes once peal'd around, 

 But now are heard no more. 



The Roman, on his battle-plains, 



Where kings before his eagles bent, 

 Entwined thee, with exulting strains, 



Around the Victor's tent : 

 Yet there, though fresh in glossy green 

 Triumph ally thy boughs might wave, 

 Better thou lov'st the silent scene, 

 Around the Victor's grave. 



Where sleep the sons of ages flown, 



The bards and heroes of the past ; 

 Where, through the halls of glory gone, 



Murmurs the wintry blast ; 

 Where years are hastening to efface 



Each record of the grand and fair ; 

 Thou, in thy solitary grace, 



Wreath of the tomb ! art there. 



Thou, o'er the shrines of fallen gods, 



On classic plains dost mantling spread, 

 And veil the desolate abodes 

 And cities of the dead. 

 Deserted palaces of kings, 



Arches of triumph, long o'erthrown ; 

 And all once glorious earthly things, 

 At length are thine alone. 



1 " Endymion," Book I, 





