Page:Puck of Pook's Hill.djvu/13



See you the dimpled track that runs,
 * All hollow through the wheat?

O that was where they hauled the guns
 * That smote King Philip's fleet.

See you our little mill that clacks,
 * So busy by the brook?

She has ground her corn and paid her tax
 * Ever since Domesday Book.

See you our stilly woods of oak,
 * And the dread ditch beside?

O that was where the Saxons broke,
 * On the day that Harold died!

See you the windy levels spread
 * About the gates of Rye?

O that was where the Northmen fled,
 * When Alfred's ships came by.

See you our pastures wide and lone,
 * Where the red oxen browse?

O there was a City thronged and known,
 * Ere London boasted a house.

And see you, after rain, the trace
 * Of mound and ditch and wall?

O that was a Legion's camping-place,
 * When Cæsar sailed from Gaul.