'Neath the vault of the azure sky;
Thus all alone by the wood and wold,
I yield myself once again
To the memories old that, like tales fresh told,
Come flitting across the brain.




Fytte II
By Flood and Field
[A Legend of the Cottiswold]

"They have saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They have bridled a hundred black." -- Old Ballad.
"He turned in his saddle, now follow who dare.
I ride for my country, quoth * *." -- Lawrence.



I remember the lowering wintry morn,
And the mist on the Cotswold hills,
Where I once heard the blast of the huntsman's horn,
Not far from the seven rills.
Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St. Clair,
Bob Chapman and Andrew Kerr,
And big George Griffiths on Devil-May-Care,
And -- black Tom Oliver.
And one who rode on a dark-brown steed,
Clean jointed, sinewy, spare,