THE SHERWOOD FORESTERS.
Deep in the greenwood year by year
Bold Robin Hood, a knightly ghost,
Has eased the purse that bulged the most
And stalked the wraiths of Rufford deer;
And, as the centuries speed away,
Has seen his oak and birk-land shrink,
Where teeming cities on its brink
Crowd in on Sherwood of to-day.
But still each year the outlaw-king,
By Normanton and Perlethorpe spire,
Has watched the beeches' emerald fire
Flare upward in the leaping spring;
Each heather-time has found his own
Eyrie of rest where Higger Tor
Shimmers in purple as before
King Cœur-de-Lion held his throne.
And Foresters away "out there,"
Sons of his sons, have surely seen
A figure clad in Lincoln green
Glide by them swiftly, thin as air;
And, yarning in the creepy dark,
Have told of arrows, cloth-yard long,
Whistling before them clean and strong,
Of Huns that got them, pierced and stark;
How when their line is making good,
In charge or trench, as Sherwoods can,
Soft-footed, ever in the van,
Stalks the bold ghost of Robin Hood.
Mrs. Jones (suspiciously, to Jones, who is kept on strict rations). "Somebody has eaten Fido's dinner."