8 
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ire 
IV Y. 
E M B L E M OF FRIENDSHIP. 
Thy home, wild plant, is where each Sound 
Of revelry hath long been o’er; 
Where song’s full notes once pealed around, 
But now are heard no more. 
Where years are hast'ning to efface 
Each record of the grand and fair, 
Thou, in thy solitary grâce, 
Wreath of the tomb, art there ! 
Mes. Hemans. 
The Ivy is a native of the whole of Europe, but 
an exotic in America, where it is yet but rarely seen. 
This accords with the ideas we naturally connect with 
this plant. Is not the Ivy’s home 
“ Around the wrecks of time ; ’’ 
and where in the new world can it find 
“ a site disconsolate. 
On turret, wall, or tower ? ” 
Name but the Ivy, and some beautiful remnant 
of the grandeur, taste, or piety of former days 
(over which time, as he mars its fair proportions, 
