Oh, for the honest, blithesome times
Of bosky Sherwood long ago,
When Allen trolled his amorous rhymes
And Robin twanged his crafty bow;
When Little John and Friar Tuck
Traversed the greenwood far and near,
Feasting on many a royal buck
Washed down with brown October beer!
Beside their purling sylna rills,
What knew these yeomen bold and free
Of envious cares and grewsome ills
That now, sweet friend, vex you and me?
Theirs but to roam the leafy glade,
Beshrewing sheriffs, lords, and priests,
To loll supine beneath the shade,
Regaling monarchs with their feasts.
The murrain seize these ribald times
When there is such a lust for gold
That poets fashion all their rhymes,
Like varlet tradesfolk, to be sold!
Not so did Allen when he trolld
His ballads in that merry glade;
Nay, in those courteous days of old
The minstrel spurned the tricks of trade!
So, Joyous friend, when you and I
Sing to the world our chosen theme,
Lets do as do the birds that fly
Careless oer woodland, wold, and stream:
Sing Natures song, untouched of art --
Sing of the forest, brook, and plain;
And, hearing it, each human heart
Will vibrate with the sweet refrain.
