Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/254

Rh

The greenwood! the greenwood! How balmy is the air, How sweet the morning breeze that fans The roebuck in his lair. Oh! would that from these hated walls I too might roam as free, And tread the turf with steps as light And heart as full of glee.

The greenwood! the greenwood! How bright the dew-drops shine, How gracefully the ivy wreaths Around the old oaks twine. Take all the feasts and festivals This darksome city yields— Give me the shade of forest bowers, The sun-light of the fields.