300 OCTOBER. 



How often in this weary world, I pine and long to flee, 

 And lay me down, as I was wont, under the greenwood-tree ! 



The greenwood ! the greenwood ! to the bold and happy boy, 

 Thy realm of shades is a fairy-land of wonder and of joy. 

 Oh, for that freshness of the heart, that pure and vivid thrill, 

 As he listens to the woodland cries, and wanders at his will ! 



The youth delights in thy leafy gloom, and thy winding walks to 



rove, 

 When his simple thought is snared and caught in the subtile webs 



of love ; 

 Manhood, with high and restless hope, a spirit winged with 



flame, 

 Plans in thy bower his path to power, to affluence, and fame. 



The old man loves thee, when his soul dreams of the world no 



more, 

 But his heart is full of its gathered wealth, and he counts it o r er 



and o'er; 



When his race is run, his prize is won or lost, until the bound 

 Of the world unknown is overthrown, and his master's hope is 



crown'd. 



The greenwood ! the greenwood I oh, be it mine to lie 

 In the depth of thy mossy solitude, when summer fills the sky I 

 With pleasant sound, and scents around, a tome of ancient lore, 

 And a pleasant friend with me to bend and turn its pages o'er. 



W. H. 



The Saxons called this month Wyn-monath, wine- 

 month, and Winter-fulleth. 



The great business of Nature, with respect to the 

 vegetable creation, at this season, is dissemination. 

 Plants, having gone through the successive stages of 



