




Gs. how could fancy crown with thee 
THE 
THE POETRY OF FLOWERS, 
BY MRS. HEMANS. 
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 ro: 
But now are known no more. 
Where long-fallen gods recline, 
There the place is thine. 
The Roman on his battle plains, 
Where kings before his eagles bent, 
With thee, amidst exulting strains, 
Shadow’d the victor’s tent ; 
Though shining there in deathless green, 
Triumphally thy boughs might wave, 
Better thou lovest the silent scene 
Around the victor’s grave. 
Urn and sculpture half-divine 
Yield their place to thine. 
The cold halls of the regal dead, 
Where lone the Italian sunbeams dwell, 
here | 

1ollaw sounds the lightest tread— 
IVY SONG. 


