Robin the outlaw! Is there not a mass
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 lass
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 times
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!