The poetical works of Leigh Hunt :: :: University of Virginia Library

Robin Hood's mother look'd out, and said,
“It were a shame and a sin,
For fear of getting a wet head,
To keep such a day within,
Nor welcome up from his sick bed
Your uncle Gamelyn.”

And Robin leap'd for mirth and glee,
And so they quit the door,
And “Mother, I'm your dog,” quoth he,
And scamper'd on before.

Robin was a gentle boy,
And therewithal as bold;
To say he was his mother's joy,
It were a phrase too cold.

His hair upon his thoughtful brow
Came smoothly clipp'd, and sleek,
But ran into a curl somehow
Beside his merrier cheek.

Great love to him his uncle, too,
The noble Gamelyn bare,
And often said, as his mother knew,
That he should be his heir.

Gamelyn's eyes, now getting dim,
Would twinkle at his sight,
And his ruddy wrinkles laugh at him
Between his locks so white:

For Robin already let him see
He should beat his playmates all
At wrestling, and running, and archery,
For he cared not for a fall.

139

Now and then his gall arose,
And into a rage he flew;
But 'twas only at such as Tom Harden's blows,
Who, when he had given a bloody nose,
Used to mimic the cock when he crows;
Otherwise Rob laugh'd too.

Merriest he was of merry boys,
And would set the old helmets bobbing:
If his uncle ask'd about the noise,
'Twas “If you please, sir, Robin.”

And yet if the old man wish'd no noise,
He'd come and sit at his knee,
And be the gravest of grave-eyed boys,
And not a word spoke he.

So whenever he and his mother came
To brave old Shere Wood Hall,
'Twas nothing there but sport and game,
And holiday folks all:
The servants never were to blame,
Though they let the pasty fall.

And now the travellers turn the road,
And now they hear the rooks;
And there it is,—the old abode,
With all its hearty looks.

Robin laugh'd, and the lady too,
And they look'd at one another;
Says Robin, “I'll knock as I'm used to do
At uncle's window, mother.”

And so he pick'd up some pebbles and ran,
And jumping higher and higher,
He reach'd the windows with tan a ran tan,
And instead of the kind old white-hair'd man,
There look'd out a fat friar.

140

“How now,” said the fat friar angrily,
“What is this knocking so wild?”
But when he saw young Robin's eye,
He said, “Go round, my child.

“Go round to the hall, and I'll tell you all.”
“He'll tell us all!” thought Robin;
And his mother and he went quietly,
Though her heart was set a throbbing.

The friar stood in the inner door,
And tenderly said, “I fear
You know not the good squire's no more,
Even Gamelyn Shere.

“Gamelyn of Shere Wood is dead,
He changed but yesternight:”
“Now make us way,” the lady said,
“To see that doleful sight.”

“Good old Gamelyn Shere is dead,
And has made us his holy heirs:”
The lady stay'd not for all he said,
But went weeping up the stairs.

Robin and she went hand in hand,
Weeping all the way,
Until they came where the lord of that land
Dumb in his cold bed lay.

His hand she took, and saw his dead look,
With the lids over each eye-ball;
And Robin and she wept as plenteously,
As though he had left them all.

“I will return, Sir Abbot of Vere,
I will return, as is meet,
And see my honour'd brother dear
Laid in his winding sheet.

141

“And I will stay, for to go were a sin,
For all a woman's tears,
And see the noble Gamelyn
Laid equal with the Veres.”

The lady went with a sick heart out
Into the fresh air,
And told her Robin all about
The abbot whom he saw there:

And how his uncle must have been
Disturb'd in his failing sense,
To leave his wealth to these artful men,
At her's and Robin's expense.

Sad was the stately day for all
But the Vere Abbey friars,
When the coffin was stript of its hiding pall,
Amidst the hushing choirs.

Sad was its going down into the dust,
And the thought of the face departed;
The lady shook at them, as shake we must,
And Robin he felt strange-hearted.

That self-same evening, nevertheless,
They return'd to Locksley town,
The lady in a sore distress,
And Robin looking down.

No word he spoke, no note he took
Of bird, or beast, or aught,
Till she ask'd him with a woful look
What made him so full of thought.

“I was thinking, mother,” said little Robin,
And with his own voice so true
He spoke right out, “That if I was a king,
Or if I was a man, which is the next thing,
I'd see what those friars do.

142

“I wouldn't let 'em be counted friars,
If they did as these have done,
But make 'em fight, for rogues and liars;
I'd make 'em fight, to see which was right,
Them, or the mother's son.”

His mother stoop'd with a tear of joy,
And she kiss'd him again and again,
And said, “My own little Robin boy,
Thou wilt be a King of Men.”