YE WEARIE WAYFARER 



You can crop the grass as fast as you please 

 While I stretch my limbs on the sward ; 



'Tis pleasant, I ween, with a leafy screen 

 O'er the weary head, to lie 



On the mossy carpet of emerald green, 

 'Neath the vault of the azure sky ; 



Thus all alone by the wood and wold, 



1 yield myself once again 



To the memories old, that like tales fresh 

 told, 

 Come flittino- 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 hunts- 

 man's horn. 

 Not far from the seven rills. 



Jack Esdale was there, and Hugh St Clair, 



Bob Chapman, and Andrew Kerr, 



2 17 



