Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/97

55 THE PICKWICK CLUB. 55

no other — the old houses and fields seem like living friends to me : and BO does our little church with the ivy, — about which, by-the-by, our excellent friend there, made a song when he first came amongst us. Mr. Snodgrass, have you anything in your glass?"

had been greatly excited by the last observations of his enter- tainer. ** 1 beg your pardon, but you were talking about the song of the Ivy."
 * Plenty, thank you," replied that gentleman, whose poetic curiosity

" You must ask our friend opposite about that," said the host know- ingly : indicating the clergyman by a nod of his head.

"May I say that I should like to hear you repeat it, Sir?" said Mr, Snodgrass.

" Why really," replied the clergyman, " it 's a very slight affair ; and the only excuse I have for having ever perpetrated it, is, that I was a young man at the time. Such as it is, however, you shall hear it if you wish."

A murmur of curiosity was of course the reply ; and the old gentle- man proceeded to recite, with the aid of sundry promptings from his wife, the lines in question. " I call them," said he,

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green.

That creepeth o'er ruins old !

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,

In his cell so lone and cold.

The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,

To pleasure his dainty whim :

And the mouldering dust that years have made,

Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he woars no wings,

And a staunch old heart has he.

How closely he twineth, how tight he clings,

To his friend the huge Oak Tree !

And slily he trailcth along the ground,

And his leaves he gently waves,

As he joyously hugs and crawleth round

The rich mould of dead men's graves.

Creeping where grim death has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy gieen.

Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,

And nations have scattered been ;

But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,

From its hale and hearty green.

The brave old plant in its lonely days,

Shall fatten upon the past :

For the stateliest building man can raise.

Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping on, where time has been, A rare old plant is the Ivy green.