ROBIN HOOD

(The young people of England and America are fond of the Robin Hood stories. Their appreciation of Robin Hood and "all the Sherwood clan" has found fitting expression in this beautiful tribute by John Keats. This English poet, full of eternal youth, makes us regret the passing of Robin Hood and his merry companions of the good greenwood.)

O! those days are gone away,

No!

And their hours are old and gray,

And their minutes buried all
Under the down-trodden pall°
Of the leaves of many years;
Many times have Winter's shears,
Frozen North, and chilling East,
Sounded tempests to the feast
Of the forest's whispering fleeces,
Since men knew nor rent nor leases.

No, the bugle sounds no more,
And the twanging bow no more;
Silent is the ivory shrill
Past the heath and up the hill;
There is no mid-forest laugh,
Where lone Echo gives the half
To some wight,° amazed to hear
Jesting deep in forest drear.

On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you,
Or the polar ray° to right you;
But you never may behold
Little John, or Robin bold—
Never one, of all the clan,
Thrumming on an empty can

Some old hunting ditty, while
He doth his green way beguile
To fair hostess Merriment,
Down beside the pasture Trent;°
For he left the merry tale,
Messenger for spicy ale.

Gone, the merry morris° din;
Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
Idling in the "grenè shawe";°
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his turféd grave,
And if Marian should have
Once again her forest days,

She would weep, and he would craze:
He would swear, for all his oaks,
Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
Have rotted on the briny seas;
She would weep that her wild bees
Sang not to her-Strange! that honey
Can't be got without hard money!

So it is yet let us sing,
Honor to the old bow string!
Honor to the bugle horn!

Honor to the woods unshorn!
Honor to the Lincoln green!
Honor to the archer keen!
Honor to tight° Little John,
And the horse he rode upon!
Honor to bold Robin Hood,
Sleeping in the underwood!

Honor to Maid Marian,

And to all the Sherwood clan!

Though their days have hurried by

Let us two a burden° try.

-John Keats

Words: pall-covering for the dead; wight-a simple fellow; polar ray-the north star; pasture Trent-a field near the Trent River in northwestern England; morris-a rough dance; grenè shawe-grove of green trees; tight-strong; burden-song.

Questions: What are Winter's shears? Explain the ivory shrill. Note how the poet through a series of pictures brings the old days clearly before us. What word is repeated several times in the fourth stanza? What is the purpose of repeating it? What word in the last stanza receives great emphasis? If this poem were made into a song, what lines might well be the chorus or burden?

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE

INDER the greenwood tree

UNDE

Who loves to lie with me,

And turn his merry note

Unto the sweet bird's throat,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live i' the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleased with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

-William Shakespeare

DAFFODILS

(This beautiful poem was written by William Wordsworth, the greatest lover of nature among the poets. Wordsworth was born in England in 1770. Two of his best-known poems are Lucy Gray and We Are Seven. Wordsworth was usually very serious in his poems.)

I

WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:-
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund° company;

I gazed and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,

And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

-William Wordsworth

Words: jocund-merry; pensive-thoughtful, saddened.