Robin the outlaw!
Is there not a
Of freedom in the name? -- It tells the story Of clenched oaks, with branches bow'd and hoary,
Leaning in aged beauty o'er the grass;--Of dazed smile on cheek of border
Listening 'gainst some old gate at his strange glory:
And of the dappled stag, struck down and gory,
Lying with nostril wide in green morass.
It tells a tale of forest days -- of
That would have been most precious unto thee:
Days of undying pastoral liberty:--Sweeter than music old of abbey chimes--Sweet as the virtue of Shakespearian rhymes--Days, shadowy with the magic green-wood tree!
Sonnet I. of 3, printed in "The Garden Of Florence" &c., 1821.
