 | Songs of summer |  |
105
THE GRAVE OF ROBIN HOOD.
Beside this oak, below this mound,
In this unconsecrated ground,
This dim, remote, neglected wood,
He sleeps, they tell me—Robin Hood.
This is his grave; they laid him here,
That left not in the world his peer:
Here doth his body go to dust;
His soul hath gone to God, I trust.
In this unconsecrated ground,
This dim, remote, neglected wood,
He sleeps, they tell me—Robin Hood.
This is his grave; they laid him here,
That left not in the world his peer:
Here doth his body go to dust;
His soul hath gone to God, I trust.
He was a knight in days of yore,
A lord, or earl, or may be more,
Who forfeited his right divine,
When Richard fought in Palestine.
But we who come from o'er the sea
Care nothing for his pedigree;
That sham with us is out of date,
A bugbear of the feudal state;
Nor will it ever win again
The fear or love of freeborn men.
It is enough for us that he
A lord, or earl, or may be more,
Who forfeited his right divine,
When Richard fought in Palestine.
But we who come from o'er the sea
Care nothing for his pedigree;
That sham with us is out of date,
A bugbear of the feudal state;
Nor will it ever win again
The fear or love of freeborn men.
It is enough for us that he
| Songs of summer | |