How sweetly pours that bugle shrill
It’s mellow tones o’er dale and hill,
As Sherwood’s Hero, down the glade,[[59]]
Steps with his bow and bright brown blade,[[60]]
His feather’d arrows, broad and keen,
Hung lightly o’er his gown of green!
A robber! say’st thou? Thy harsh laws,
Oppressor, and the poor man’s cause
Led him, indignant, to the wood,
With bold pretence of rights withstood.