ttbe fraarant "Rote »ooft 



shade and from shadow to noon's glare; we cross tiny brooks 

 on goodly stones, whistle to the mocking thrushes, throw 

 last year's acorns at the impudent squirrels, singing the 

 while a merry song and seeking neither crowns, coronets nor ' 

 honours; for in an independent world our bosky bourn is the! 

 most independent of places, and had we a minstrel with us 

 we should choose for our troubadour some carefree scamp 

 who could sing with a cheerful abandon 



