FYTTE 9
That tells almost as fully as it should,
The joys of living in the good greenwood.
* * * * *
Deep-hidden in the trackless wild the outlaws had made them a haven of
refuge, a camp remote and well sequestered. Here were mossy, fern-clad
rocks that soared aloft, and here green lawns where ran a blithesome brook;
it was indeed a very pleasant place shut in by mighty trees. Within this
leafy boskage stood huts of wattle, cunningly wrought; beneath the steep
were many caves carpeted with dried fern and fragrant mosses, while
everywhere, above and around, the trees spread mighty boughs, through which
the sun darted golden beams be-dappling the sward, and in whose leafy
mysteries the birds made joyous carolling.
And here beneath bending willows arched over this merry brook, one
sun-bright morning riotous with song of birds, sat Jocelyn with Robin
a-sprawl beside him.
"O brother," says Robin, "O brother, 't is a fair place the greenwood, a
fair, sweet place to live--aye, or to die in methinks, this good greenwood,
whereof I have made a song--hark 'ee!"
"Oho, it is a right good thing
When trees do bud and flowers do spring
All in the wood, the fair, green wood,
To hear the birds so blithely sing,
Adown, adown, hey derry down,
All in the good, green wood.
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