The Ivy in a dungeon grew Unfed by rain, uncheer'd by dew; Its pallid leaflets only drank Cave-moistures foul, and odours dank.
But through the dungeon-grating high There fell a sunbeam from the sky: It slept upon the grateful floor In silent gladness evermore.
The ivy felt a tremor shoot Through all its fibres to the root; It felt the light, it saw the ray, It strove to issue into day.
It grew, it crept, it push'd, it clomb-- Long had the darkness been its home; But well it knew, though veil'd in night, The goodness and the joy of light.
Its clinging roots grew deep and strong; Its stem expanded firm and long; And in the currents of the air Its tender branches flourish'd fair.
It reach'd the beam--it thrill'd, it curl'd, It bless'd the warmth that cheers the world; It rose towards the dungeon bars-- It look'd upon the sun and stars.
It felt the life of bursting spring, It heard the happy sky-lark sing. It caught the breath of morns and eves, And woo'd the swallow to its leaves.
By rains, and dews, and sunshine fed, Over the outer wall it spread; And in the daybeam waving free, It grew into a steadfast tree.
Upon that solitary place Its verdure threw adorning grace. The mating birds became its guests, And sang its praises from their nests.
Wouldst know the moral of the rhyme? Behold the heavenly light, and climb! Look up, O tenant of the cell, Where man, the prisoner, must dwell.
To every dungeon comes a ray Of God's interminable day. On every heart a sunbeam falls To cheer its lonely prison walls.
The ray is TRUTH. Oh, soul, aspire To bask in its celestial fire; So shalt thou quit the glooms of clay, So shaft thou flourish into day.
So shalt thou reach the dungeon grate, No longer dark and desolate; And look around thee, and above, Upon a world of light and love.
How curious is the structure of the nest of the goldfinch or chaffinch! The inside of it is lined with cotton and fine silken threads; and the outside cannot be sufficiently admired, though it is composed only of various species of fine moss. The colour of these mosses, resembling that of the bark of the tree on which the nest is built, proves that the bird intended it should not be easily discovered. In some nests, hair, wool, and rushes are dexterously interwoven. In some, all the parts are firmly fastened by a thread, which the bird makes of hemp, wool, hair, or more commonly of spiders' webs. Other birds, as for instance the blackbird and the lapwing, after they have constructed their nest, plaster the inside with mortar, which cements and binds the whole together; they then stick upon it, while quite wet, some wool or moss, to give it the necessary degree of warmth. The nests of swallows are of a very different construction from those of other birds. They require neither wood, nor hay, nor cords; they make a kind of mortar, with which they form a neat, secure, and comfortable habitation for themselves and their family. To moisten the dust, of which they build their nest, they dip their breasts in water and shake the drops from their wet feathers upon it. But the nests most worthy of admiration are those of certain Indian birds, which suspend them with great art from the branches of trees, to secure them from the depredations of various animals and insects. In general, every species of bird has a peculiar mode of building; but it may be remarked of all alike, that they always construct their nests in the way that is best adapted to their security, and to the preservation and welfare of their species.