POETRY.

THE BONNY IVY TREE.

A WELSH IDYLL.

IN hand I took a heavy hook, And down my rocky garden strode To strike free from a larch tree The Ivy's heavy load.

But as, to prove its edge keen, My finger slowly searched the blade, A song-burst from the Ivy screen My purpose delayed.

It was a gallant storm-thrush, The Pen-y-Llyn proud, Pouring out on the air's hush Love's exultation.s loud.

I listened,- leaning on the wall That guards our sudden shelving wood ; Though but the midmost day of Fall, It seemed full summerhood.

He ceased, and through the still larch tops, Green as in the joyful June, There fell into a flowering copse The fervent fires of noon.

Till Elderberries, wine-dark, Glittered each drooping bunch upon, And, wreathed around the pine-hark, Laughed back the Woodbine wan.

While hosts of crimson-jacketed And purple-kilted fays In air their tip-toe measures sped Along the Fuchsia sprays.

Bumble bees came courting these, Now to one dancer clinging, Now away with freedom gay To another flinging.

And yet I marked with wonderment The working bees pass fuchsia bowers And bramble bloom, yet lodge content Among the Ivy's flowers.

There, honey-gathering, pollen-packing, Then floating home their treasure-fleet- Never had they for their sacking A citadel' so sweet.

And flies on flies, a coloured many, Flocked in to share the flowery feast, Then twirled and flicked their fine antennae Free of the sugary yeast.

Even two Admirals downward sailing, Stately in scarlet, jet and blue, With closed wings their splendour veiling, Stood sipping ivy dew.

Until, relenting, I outspake : " For the brave ones you nest and nourish— For ymir birds' Sake and yOur bees' sake,

Ivy, ,"ou still shall flourish 1" -

ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.