"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.

"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.

"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."

ROBIN HOOD'S FLIGHT.

ROBIN HOOD's mother, these ten years now,
Has been gone from her earthly home;
And Robin has paid, he scarce knew how,
A sum for a noble tomb.

The church-yard lies on a woody hill,
But open to sun and air:

It seems as if the heaven still

Were blessing the good bones there.

Often when Robin turn'd that way,

He look'd through a sweet thin tear;
But he look'd in a different manner, they say,
Towards the Abbey of Vere.

Custom had made him not care for wealth,
Sincere was his mirth at pride;

He had youth, and strength, and health,
And enough for one beside.

But he thought of his gentle mother's cheek,

How it faded and sunk away,

And how she used to grow more weak

And weary every day;

And how, when trying a hymn, her voice

At evening would expire,

How unlike it was the arrogant noise

Of the hard throats in the quire:

And Robin thought too of the poor,
How they toil'd without their share,
And how the alms at the abbey door
But kept them as they were:

And he thought him then of the friars again,

Who rode jingling up and down,

With their trappings and things as fine as the king's, Though they wore but a shaven crown.

And then of the king bold Robin he thought,
And the homes for his sports undone ;

How the poor were turn'd out where his deer were brought,

Yet on body and soul what agonies wrought,

If starving, they killed but one.

And in angry mood, as Robin thus stood,

Digging his bow in the ground,

He was aware in old Shere Wood,

Of a huckster who look'd around.

"And what is Will doing?" said Robin then, "That he looks so fearful and wan?"

“Oh my dear master that should have been, I am a weary man."

"A weary man," said Will Nokes, "am I; For unless I pilfer this wood

To sell to the fletchers, for want I shall die Here in this forest so good.

"Here in this forest where I have been

So happy and so stout,

And like a palfrey on the green,

Have carried yourself about."

"And why, Will Nokes, not come to me? Why not to Robin, Will?

For I remember thy love and thy glee,
And the scar that marks thee still;

"And not a soul of my uncle's men
To such a pass should come,

While Robin can find in his pocket or bin A penny or a crumb.

66

Stay thee, Will Nokes, man, stay awhile;

And kindle a fire for me."

And into the wood for half a mile,

He has vanish'd instantly.

Robin Hood, with his cheek on fire,

Has drawn his bow so stern,

And a leaping deer, with one leap higher, Lies motionless in the fern.