THE IVY-BUSH. 79 
North and south, and round about, 
East and west the eyes look out. 
And anon is heard afar and nigh 
How the ivy-bush sends forth a cry, 
A cry so long, a cry so wild, 
That it wakes, almost, the cradled child; 
And the coach that comes with its peopled load, 
Man, woman and babe, up the hilly road, 
They hear in amaze the sudden hoot 
That shakes the old bush, branch and root, 
And the caped-up coachman, then says he, 
‘‘In Winter-burn there grows a tree, 
And in this tree more owls abide 
Than in all Winter-burn beside; 
And every night as we climb this brow, 
The owls hoot out as they’re hooting now !”’ 
And when they hoot and when they shout, 
"Tis woe to the wood-mice all about, 
And when the fires of their eyes appear, 
The weak little birds they quake for fear, 
For they know that the owls, with a fierce delight, 
Riot and feast, like lords, at night. 
Oh bush, of ivy-trees the prime, 
Men find thee out at winter time, 
