POEMS.
55
The ivy round the stone that crept,
The willow bending nigh,
Which with its graceful branches swept
The stream that murmured by.
The willow bending nigh,
Which with its graceful branches swept
The stream that murmured by.
The old grey fountain 'neath the lime,
Long may it scathless stand;
Carved o'er and o'er with village rhyme
By many a rustic hand.
Still round its base the daisies gleam
Beneath the drooping bough,
As when a child within its stream
I plunged my sunburnt brow!
H. A.
Long may it scathless stand;
Carved o'er and o'er with village rhyme
By many a rustic hand.
Still round its base the daisies gleam
Beneath the drooping bough,
As when a child within its stream
I plunged my sunburnt brow!
H. A.
THE IVY AND THE OAK.
There stood an oak, a gallant oak,
Within a forest proud,
And high above the woodman's stroke
Its leafy branches bowed;
The lord amid the woodland scene
Of all that flourished near,
And round its trunk the ivy green
Had twined for many a year.
Within a forest proud,
And high above the woodman's stroke
Its leafy branches bowed;
The lord amid the woodland scene
Of all that flourished near,
And round its trunk the ivy green
Had twined for many a year.
