406
Around is many a sturdy oak
Never scaithed by woodman's stroke;
Many a stalwart green-wood tree,
Loved of Waithman bold and free,
When the arrow at his side,
And the bow he bent with pride,
Gave the right to range at will,
And lift whate'er broad shaft might kill.
Here, belike famed Robin Hood,
Or other noble of the wood,
Clym of the Cleuch, or Adam Bell,—
Young Gandelyn that shot full well,—
Will Cloudeslie, and Little John,
Or Bertram, wight of blood and bone,
Plied their woodcraft, maugre law:
Raking through the greenwood shaw,
Bow in hand, and sword at knee,
They lived true thieves, and Waithmen free.
In the twilight of this wood—
And, awe-breathing solitude—
Heathens of majestic mind,
Might a fitting temple find
Underneath some far-spread oak,
Nature blindly to invoke.
What is groined arch to this
Mass of moveless leafiness?
