There is no mid-forest laugh,
Where lone echo gives the half
To some wight, amaz'd to hear
Jesting, deep in forest drear.

On the fairest time in 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 "grene shawe;"
All are gone away and past!
And if Robin should be cast
Sudden from his turfèd 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,
Honour to the old bow string!
Honour to the bugle-horn!
Honour to the woods unshorn!
Honour to the Lincoln green!
Honour to the archer keen!
Honour to tight little John,

And the horse he rode upon!
Honour to bold Robin Hood!
Sleeping in the underwood!
Honour to maid Marian,
And to all the Sherwood-clan!

Though their days have hurried by Let us two a burden try.

LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI1

(1820)

I

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;

The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

II

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone?

The squirrel's granary is full,

And the harvest's done.

1 V. note to Eve of St. Agnes, xxxiii, p. 534.

To wander by the green burnside,
And hear its waters croon?
The simmer leaves hung owre our heads,
The flowers burst round our feet,
And in the gloamin' o' the wud
The throssil whusslit sweet.

The throssil whusslit in the wud,
The burn sung to the trees,
And we, with Nature's heart in tune,
Concerted harmonies;

And on the knowe abune the burn
For hours thegither sat

In the silentness o' joy, till baith
Wi' very gladness grat.

Ay, ay, dear Jeanie Morrison,
Tears trinkled doun your cheek,
Like dew-buds on a rose, yet nane
Had ony power to speak!

That was a time, a blessed time,
When hearts were fresh and young,
When freely gushed all feelings forth,
Unsyllabled-unsung!

I marvel, Jeanie Morrison,

Gin I hae been to thee

As ye hae been to me?

15

As closely twined wi' earliest thochts

75

Oh! tell me gin their music fills

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel,

Thine ear as it does mine:

'Twas then we twa did part;

Sweet time, sad time!-twa bairns at schule,

Oh! say gin e'er your heart grows great Wi' dreamings o' langsyne?

80

Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

20

"Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear;1

I've wandered east, I've wandered west, I've borne a weary lot:

And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Remembered evermair.

But in my wanderings, far or near,

Ye never were forgot.

The fount that first burst frae this heart,

85

Still travels on its way;

When sitting on that bink,

And channels deeper as it rins

Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,

What our wee heads could think!

When baith bent doun owre ae braid page,

The luve o' life's young day.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

Since we were sindered young,

I've never seen your face, nor heard
The music of your tongue:

But I could hug all wretchedness,

And happy could I dee,

Did I but ken your heart still dreamed

O' bygane days and me! .

Sir Walter Scott

1771-1832

SELECTIONS FROM SCOTT'S JOURNAL

(Edinburgh) November 20, 1825.-I have all my life regretted that I did not keep a Journal. I have myself lost recollection of much that was interesting, and I have de5 prived my family and the public of some curious information, by not carrying this resolution into effect. I have bethought me, on seeing lately some volumes of Byron's notes, that he probably had hit upon the right way 10 of keeping such a memorandum-book, by