Sad was the earth-dropping “ dust to dust,"

And “our dear broiher here departed;" The lady shook at them, as shake we must;

And Robin he felt strange-hearted.

That self-same evening, nevertheless,

They returned to Locksley town, The lady in a dumb distress,

And Robiu looking down.

They went, and went, and Robin took

Long steps by his mother's side,
Till slie asked him with a sad sweet look

What made him so thoughtful-eyed.

“ I was thinking, mother," said little Robin,

And with his own voice so true
He spoke right out, “ That if I was a king,

I'd see what those friars do."

His mother stooped with a tear of joy,

And she kissed him again and again, And said, “ My own little Robin boy,

Thou wilt be a King of Men!"


Robin Hood's mother, these twelve years none,

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 looking and smiling there.

Often when Robin looked that way,

He looked through a sweet thin tear; . But he looked in a different manner, they say,

Towards the Abbey of Vere.

He cared not for its ill-got wealth,

He felt not for his pride;
He had youth, and strength, and health,

And enough for one beside.

But he thought of his gentle mother's cheek

How it souk away,
And how she used to grow more weak

And weary every day;

And how when trying a hymı, her voice

At evening would expire,
How unlike it was the arrogant noise

Of the hard throats in the quire :

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And thinking thus, as Robin stood

Digging his bow in the ground, He was a ware in Gamelyn wood,

Of one who looked around.

" And what is Will doing,” said Robin tlien, “ 'That he looks so fearful and wan?" my

dear master that should have been, am a weary man.'

6 Oh


“A weary man,” said Will Scarlet, “. am I;

For unless I pilfer this wood To sell to the fietchers, for want I shall die

Here in this forest so good.

« Hore in this forest where I have been

So happy and so stout,
And like a palfrey on the green

Have carried you about."

“ And why, Will Scarlet, 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 pe:ny or a crumb.

6- Stay thee, Will Scarlet, stay awhile;

And kindle a fire for me.”
And into the wood for half a mile,

He has vanished instantly.

Robin Hood with his clieek on fire,

Has drawn his bow so stern, And a leaping deer, with one leap bigher,

Lies motionless in the fern.

Robin, like a proper knight

As he should liave been,
Carved a part of the shoulder right,

And bore off a portion clean.

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" And I pray thee let me follow thee

Any where under the sky,
For thou wilt never stay here with me,

Nor without thee cau l.”

Robin smiled, and suddenly fell

Into a little thought; And then into a leafy dell,

The three slain men they brought.

Ancle deep in leaves so red,

Which autumn there had cast, When going to her winter-bed

Slie had undrest her last.

And there in a hollow, side by side,

They buried them under the treen; The Abbot's belly, for all it's pride,

Made not the grave be seen.

Robin Hood, and the forester,

And Scarlet the good Will,
Struck off among the green trees there

Up a pathless hill;

And Robin caught a sudden siglit,

Of merry sweet Locksley town, Reddening in the sub-set bright;

And the gentle tears came down.

Robin looked at the town and land

And the church-yard where it lay; And poor Will Scarlet kissed his hand,

And turned his head away.

Then Robin turned him with a grasp of Will's,

And clapped him on the shoulder,
And said with one of his pleasant smiles,

“ Now shew us three men bolder."

And so they took their march away

As firm as if to fiddle,
To journey that night and all next day

With Robin Hood in the middle.


Las ! Si j'avois pouvoir d'oublier

Sa beauté, son bien dire,
Et son tres doux regarder,

Finirois mon martyre.
Mais las! mori cæur je n'en puis oter ;
Et grand affolage
M'est d'esperer;
Mais tel servage
Donne courage
A tout endurer.

Et puis comment oublier

Sa beauté, son bieu dire,
Et son tres doux regarder?

Mieux aime mon martyre.

ALI! could I but forget
Her beauty, her sweet tone
And talking, and that lovely look at one,
My martyrdom, I think, weie ended yet.
But ah! I cannot tear myself apart:
And great simplicity
Is hope in me;
Only such thrall
Gives one the heart
To go through all.

And how could I forget
Her beauty, her sweet tone
And talking, and that lovely look at one?
My martyrdom's too sweet.

Our readers, for one of the reasons mentioned in the introduction to this number, will be good enough to excuse the shortness of it. In the next we shall expatiate in our usual longitude.

Printed and published by Joseph APPLEYARD, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand.

Price 2d. And sold also by A. GLIDDON, Importer of Snuffs, No.31, Tavistockstreet, Covent-garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Books sellers and Newsmen.

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