No! those days are gone away,
\nAnd their hours are old and gray,
\nAnd their minutes buried all
\nUnder the down-trodden pall
\nOfthe leaves of many years:
\nMany times have winter’s shears,
\nFrozen North, and chilling East,
\nSounded tempests to the feast
\nOf the forest’s whispering fleeces,
\nSince men knew nor rent nor leases.
\nNo, the bugle sounds no more,
\nAnd the twanging bow no more;
\nSilent is the ivory shrill
\nPast the heath and up the hill;
\nThere is no mid-forest laugh,
\nWhere lone Echo gives the half
\nTo some wight, amaz’d to hear
\nJesting, deep in forest drear.<\/p>\n
On the fairest time of June
\nYou may go, with sun or moon,
\nOr the seven stars to light you,
\nOr the polar ray to right you;
\nBut you never may behold
\nLittle John, or Robin bold;
\nNever one, of all the clan,
\nThrumming on an empty can
\nSome old hunting ditty, while
\nHe doth his green way beguile
\nTo fair hostess Merriment,
\nDown beside the pasture Trent;
\nFor he left the merry tale,
\nMessenger for spicy ale.<\/p>\n
Gone, the merry morris din;
\nGone, the song of Gamelyn;
\nGone, the tough-belted outlaw
\nIdling in the “grene shawe”;
\nAll are gone away and past!
\nAnd if Robin should be cast
\nSudden from his turfed grave,
\nAnd if Marian should have
\nOnce again her forest days,
\nShe would weep, and he would craze:
\nHe would swear, for all his oaks,
\nFall’n beneath the dockyard strokes,
\nHave rotted on the briny seas;
\nShe would weep that her wild bees
\nSang not to her—strange! that honey
\nCan’t be got without hard money!<\/p>\n
So it is; yet let us sing
\nHonour to the old bow-string!
\nHonour to the bugle-horn!
\nHonour to the woods unshorn!
\nHonour to the Lincoln green!
\nHonour to the archer keen!
\nHonour to tight little John,
\nAnd the horse he rode upon!
\nHonour to bold Robin Hood,
\nSleeping in the underwood!
\nHonour to maid Marian,
\nAnd to all the Sherwood clan!
\nThough their days have hurried by
\nLet us two a burden try.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
No! those days are gone away, And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Ofthe leaves of many years: Many times have winter’s shears, Frozen North, and chilling East, Sounded tempests to the feast Of the forest’s whispering fleeces, Since men knew nor rent nor leases. No, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/548"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=548"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/548\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=548"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=548"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/englishhistory.net\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=548"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}