The trees in Sherwood forest are old and good,--
The grass beneath them now is dimly green;
Are they deserted all? Is no young mien
With loose-slung bugle met within the wood:
No arrow found, -- foil'd of its antler'd food,--
Struck in the oak's rude side? Is there nought seen,
To mark the revelries which there have been,--
In the sweet days of merry Robin Hood?

Go there, with Summer, and with evening,-- go
In the soft shadows like some wandering man,--
And thou shalt far amid the forest know
The archer men in green, with belt and bow,
Feasting on pheasant, river-fowl, and swan,
With Robin at their head, and Marian.