IVY BUSH. 



189 



We will conclude this article with the following sonnet 

 by our " Village MinstreW'' 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 

 W reathes 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." 



