On!--on!--glad brothers of the bow!
The dun deer's couching place ye know,
And gallant bucks this day shall rue
Our feather'd shafts,--so swift,--so true;
Yet, sorer than the sylvan train,
Our foes, upon the battle-plain,
Will mourn at the unerring hands
Of Albion's _matchless_ archer bands!

Now hie we on, to silent shades,
To glist'ning streams, and sunlit glades,
Where all that woodland life can give,
Renders it bliss indeed, to _live_.
Come, ye who love the shadowy wood,
Whate'er your days, whate'er your mood.
And join _us_, freakish knights that be
Of grey-goose wing, and good yew-tree!

Say--are ye _mirthful_?--then we'll sing
Of wayward feasts and frolicking;--
Tell jests and gibes,--nor lack we store
Of knightly tales, and monkish lore;
High freaks of dames and cavaliers,
Of warlocks, spectres, elfs, and seers,
Till with glad heart, and blithesome brow,
Ye bless your brothers of the bow!

Is _sadness_ courted?--ye shall lie
When summer's sultry noons are high,
By darkling forest's shadow'd stream