Sheffield.

LINES

ON SEEING UNEXPECTEDLY A NEW CHURCH, WHILE WALKING ON THE SABBATH IN OLD-PARK WOOD, NEAR SHEFFIELD.

ROM Shirecliffe, o'er a silent sea of trees,

FROM

When evening waned o'er Wadsley's cottages,
I looked on Loxley, Rivilin, and Don,

While at my side stood truth-loved Pemberton;
And wondered, far beneath me, to behold

A golden spire, that glowed o'er fields of gold.
Out of the earth it rose, with sudden power,
A bright flame, growing heavenward, like a flower
Where erst nor temple stood, nor holy psalm
Rose to the mountains in the day of calm.
There, at the altar, plighted hearts may sigh;
There, side by side, how soon their dust may lie!
Then carven stones the old, old tale will tell,
That saddens joy with its brief chronicle,
Till time, with pinions stolen from the dove,
Gently erase the epitaph of love;

While rivers sing, on their unwearied way,
The songs that but with earth can pass away,

That brings the tempest's accents from afar

And breathes of woodbines where no woodbines are!

Yet deem not that affection can expire,

Though earth and skies shall melt in fervent fire;

For truth hath written, on the stars above,-
"Affection cannot die, if God is Love!"
Whene'er I pass a grave with moss o'ergrown,
Love seems to rest upon the silent stone,
Above the wreck of sublunary things,
Like a tired angel sleeping on his wings.

Ebenezer Elliott.

Sherwood Forest.

ROBIN HOOD.

THE merry pranks he played would ask an age to

tell,

And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befell.
When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath been laid,
How he hath cousened them that him would have be-
trayed :

How often he hath come to Nottingham disguised,
And cunningly escaped, being set to be surprised.
In this our spacious isle I think there is not one
But he hath heard some talk of him and little John ;
And to the end of time the tales shall ne'er be done,
Of Scarlock, George-a-Green, and Much the miller's

son,

Of Tuck the merry friar, which many a sermon made In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws and their trade. An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, Still ready at his call, that bow-men were right good,

All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue. His fellow's winded horn not one of them but knew, When setting to their lips their little bugles shrill, The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill: Their baldrics set with studs, athwart their shoulders

cast,

To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled

fast,

A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span, Who struck below the knee, not counted then a man: All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous

strong;

They not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long.
Of archery they had the very perfect craft,

With broad arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft,
At marks full forty score they used to prick and rove,
Yet higher than the breast for compass never strove;
Yet at the farthest mark a foot could hardly win:
At long-buts, short, and hoyles each one could cleave

the pin:

Their arrows finely paired, for timber, and for feather, With birch and brazil pieced, to fly in any weather; And shot they with the round, the square, or forked

pile,

The loose gave such a twang as might be heard a mile. And of these archers brave there was not any one But he could kill a deer his swiftest speed upon, Which they did boil and roast, in many a mighty wood, Sharp hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food. Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood tree.

From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant

store,

What oftentimes he took, he shared amongst the poor:
No lordly Bishop came in lusty Robin's way,

To him before he went, but for his pass must pay:
The widow in distress he graciously relieved,
And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin grieved:
He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,
But to his mistress dear, his loved Marian,
Was ever constant known, which wheresoe'er she came,
Was sovereign of the woods, chief lady of the game:
Her clothes tucked to the knee, and dainty braided hair,
With bow and quiver armed, she wandered here and
there

Amongst the forest wild; Diana never knew

Such pleasure, nor such harts as Mariana slew.

Michael Drayton.

ROBIN HOOD.

IN

N a fair wood like this, where the beeches are growing, Brave Robin Hood hunted in days of old;

Down his broad shoulders his brown locks fell flowing,
His cap was of green, with a tassel of gold.

His eye was as blue as the sky in midsummer,
Ruddy his cheek as the oak-leaves in June,
Hearty his voice as he hailed the new-comer,
Tender to maidens in changeable tune.

His step had a strength, and his smile had a sweetness,
His spirit was wrought of the sun and the breeze,

He moved as a man framed in nature's completeness, And grew unabashed with the growth of the trees.

And ever to poets, who walk in the gloaming,

His horn is still heard in the prime of the year; Last eve he went with us, unseen, in our roaming, And thrilled with his presence the shy troops of deer.

When the warm sun sank down in a golden declining, And night clomb the slopes and the firs to their tops, And the faint stars to meet her did brighten their shining,

And the heat was refined into diamond drops;

Then Robin stole forth in his quaint forest-fashion, -
For dear to the heart of all poets is he, -
And in mystical whispers awakened the passion
Which slumbers within for a life that were free.

We follow the lead unawares of his spirit,

He tells us the tales which we heard in past time; Ah! why should we forfeit this earth we inherit For lives which we cannot expand into rhyme!

I think, as I lie in the shade of the beeches,

How lived and how loved this old hero of song;
I would we could follow the lesson he teaches,
And dwell, as he dwelt, these wild thickets among.

At least for a while, till we caught up the meaning
The beeches breathe out in the wealth of their growth,
Width in their nobleness, love in their leaning,
And peace at the heart from the fulness of both.
Bessie Rayner Parkes.