THE OLD BROWN FOREST 



V 



Finish thy night-work well, or woe betide thee, 

 If on the morrow irritated Huntsman, 

 Back'd by a hundred followers in scarlet. 



Find the earths open ! 



The Old 'Bi'own Forest 



I 



BROWN Forest of Mara ! whose bounds were 

 of yore 

 From Kellsborrow's Castle outstretch'd to the shore,' 

 Our fields and our hamlets afforested then, 

 That thy beasts might have covert — unhous'd were 

 our men. 



II 



Our King the first William, Hugh Lupus our Earl, 

 Then poaching, I ween, was no sport for a churl ; 

 A noose for his neck who a snare should contrive, 

 Who skinn'd a dead buck was himself flay'd alive ! 



Ill 



Our Normandy nobles right dearly, I trow, 

 They loved in the forest to bend the yew bow ; 

 They wound their " recheat " and their " mort " on 



the horn, 

 And they laugh'd the rude chase of the Saxon to 



scorn. 



' Nole 20. 



c 17 



