Poems (Ford)/To an Ivy-Leaf
TO AN IVY-LEAF,
BROUGHT FROM THE RUINS OF SHANE'S CASTLE.
BROUGHT FROM THE RUINS OF SHANE'S CASTLE.
Oh, treasured leaf, though faded now thy green and glossy hue,
Thou bringest up a distant land once more before my view;
Thou bearest me in spirit back across the ocean's foam,
To see once more, with fond delight, the dear old scenes of home.
Thou bringest up a distant land once more before my view;
Thou bearest me in spirit back across the ocean's foam,
To see once more, with fond delight, the dear old scenes of home.
I bore thee in thy beauty from thy breezy home away;
Like pearls upon thy satin cheek the glittering dew-drops lay;
For ages round a ruined pile thy parent vine had clung,
And many a summer 'mongst its leaves the birds their matins sung.
Like pearls upon thy satin cheek the glittering dew-drops lay;
For ages round a ruined pile thy parent vine had clung,
And many a summer 'mongst its leaves the birds their matins sung.
That stately ruin, grand and old—I seem to see it now,
The long grass waving o'er the seams that mark its hoary brow,
While through the thin and scattered tufts morn's rosy sunbeams play,
Like childhood's fingers wandering 'mong a grandsire's locks of gray.
The long grass waving o'er the seams that mark its hoary brow,
While through the thin and scattered tufts morn's rosy sunbeams play,
Like childhood's fingers wandering 'mong a grandsire's locks of gray.
Around its walls once more I hear the wild waves sob and moan,
Chanting a solemn requiem o'er power and glory gone;
And see the ivy's circling arms its crumbling towers entwine,
As if to veil the mournfulness of grandeur in decline.
Chanting a solemn requiem o'er power and glory gone;
And see the ivy's circling arms its crumbling towers entwine,
As if to veil the mournfulness of grandeur in decline.
Oh! faded leaf, I prize thee yet, though beautiful no more;
Thy kindred tendrils freshly wave upon my native shore;
They wrap in Nature's drapery her fallen shrines and fanes,
As if they loved each stately wreck of splendor that remains.
Thy kindred tendrils freshly wave upon my native shore;
They wrap in Nature's drapery her fallen shrines and fanes,
As if they loved each stately wreck of splendor that remains.
Though snows have wreathed the mountain's brow, and summer breezes fanned,
Since thou hast met the morning's smile that gilds my native land,
Thou bringest thoughts of days and scenes I never can forget;
For this, O pallid ivy-leaf, I dearly love thee yet.
Since thou hast met the morning's smile that gilds my native land,
Thou bringest thoughts of days and scenes I never can forget;
For this, O pallid ivy-leaf, I dearly love thee yet.