IVY HUSH. 189 



We will conclude this article with the following sonnet 

 by our " Village Minstrel" Clare : 



" Dark creeping Ivy, with thy berries brown, 

 That fondly twists' on ruins all thine own, 

 Old spire-points studding with a leafy crown 

 Which every minute threatens to dethrone ; 

 With fearful eye I view thy height sublime, 

 And oft with quicker step retreat from thence 

 Where thou, in weak defiance, striv'st with Time, 

 And hold'st his weapons in a dread suspense. 

 But, bloom of ruins, thou art dear to me, 

 When, far from danger's way, thy gloomy pride 

 Wreathes picturesque around some ancient tree 

 That bows his branches by some fountain-side : 

 Then sweet it is from summer suns to be, 

 With thy green darkness overshadowing me." 





