2QO WOODLANDERS AND FIELD FOLK 



nuts for the badgers; he hoarded for the mice and 

 squirrels ; rabbits rustled away, though not terrified. 

 Near his haunts they found green corn-stalks. 

 Hares looked from the green brackens and skipped 

 in the moonlight. Even the bead-eyed weasels 

 lived with him among the stones. Only the fox 

 never came near. 



The stones are old and hoar and lichened; the 

 same might have been said of him. He loved every- 

 thing, and was loved by all. But, like the ruin, 

 he too passed away. When the berries of the deadly 

 nightshade came and the leaves fell, he seared and 

 died. Under that mound he is still a recluse the 

 spirit of the wood. But this is a strange dead thing. 

 We are of the sun; we are of the light. We live, 

 and move and have our being; we cry for air and 

 sunshine. Away with death that drear, sombre, 

 silent thing. 



Still I stand by the ruin. A bit of sunlight comes 

 upon the dead stones; it is a bird, a bright, lifeful, 

 joyous creature. 



