Beside their purling sylna rills,
What knew these yeomen bold and free
Of envious cares and grewsome ills
That now, sweet friend, vex you and me?
Theirs but to roam the leafy glade,
Beshrewing sheriffs, lords, and priests,
To loll supine beneath the shade,
Regaling monarchs with their feasts.
The murrain seize these ribald times
When there is such a lust for gold
That poets fashion all their rhymes,
Like varlet tradesfolk, to be sold!
Not so did Allen when he troll’d
His ballads in that merry glade;
Nay, in those courteous days of old
The minstrel spurned the tricks of trade!
So, Joyous friend, when you and I
Sing to the world our chosen theme,
Let’s do as do the birds that fly
Careless o’er woodland, wold, and stream:
Sing Nature’s song, untouched of art --
Sing of the forest, brook, and plain;
And, hearing it, each human heart
Will vibrate with the sweet refrain.