When the coffin was stript of its hiding pall, And how the alms at the abbey-door Sad was the earth-dropping "dust to dust," And "our dear brother here departed:" The lady shook at them, as shake we must; And Robin he felt strange-hearted. That self-same evening, nevertheless, They returned to Locksley town, The lady in a dumb distress, And Robin looking down. They went, and went, and Robin took But kept them as they were: And he thought him then of the friars again, Who rode jingling up and down [king's, With their trappings and things as fine as the Though they wore but a shaven crown. And then bold Robin he thought of the king, And thinking thus, as Robin stood "I was thinking, mother," said little Robin, "And what is Will doing," said Robin then, And with his own voice so true He spoke right out, "That if I was a king, I'd see what those friars do." Ilis mother stooped with a tear of joy, And she kissed him again and again, And said, "My own little Robin boy, Thou wilt be a King of Men!" ROBIN HOOD'S FLIGHT. Robin Hood's mother, these twelve years now, The church-yard lies on a woody hill, It seems as if the heavens still "That he looks so fearful and wan "" "Oh my dear master that should have been, I am a weary man." "A weary man," said Will Scarlet, "am I; For unless I pilfer this wood To sell to the fleshers, for want I shall die Here in this forest so good. "Here in this forest where I have heen So happy and so stout, And like a palfrey on the green "And why, Will Scarlet, not come to me? Why not to Robin, Will? For I remember thy love and thy glee, "And not a soul of my uncle's men To such a pass should come, There was Roger the monk, that used to make And story then, and joke, and song, And Midge, on whom Robin had never turn'd And sometimes they'd get up and dance, With one or two, they say, besides, We cannot bid our strength remain, We cannot say to an aged back, We cannot bid our dim eyes see For pleasure of the sound. Tingle, tangle! said the harp, As they footed in and out: A pleasant sight, especially If Margery was there, Or any other merry lass Nor tell our friends, though friends from youth, Who came with milk and eggs, or fruit, That they'll forsake us never: But we can say, I never will, Friendship, fall off from thee; And, oh, sound truth and old regard, Nothing shall part us three. A-singing through the trees. For all the country round about THE MAIN-TRUCK, OR A LEAP FOR LIFE+ BY WILLIAM LEGGETT. THE last cruise I made in the Mediterranean was in old Ironsides, as we used to call our gallant frigate. We had been backing and filling for several months on the western coast of Africa, from the Canaries down to Messurado, in search of slave traders; and during that time we had had some pretty heavy weather. When we reached the Straits, there was a spanking wind blowing from about west-south-west; so we squared away, and, without comingto at the Rock, made a straight wake for old Mahon, the general rendezvous and place of refitting for our squadrons in the Mediterranean. Immediately on arriving there, we warped in alongside the Arsenal quay, where we stripped ship to girtline, broke out the holds, tiers, and store-rooms, and gave her a regular-built overhauling from stem to stern. For a while, every body was busy, and all seemed bustle and confusion. Orders and replies, in loud and dissimilar voices, the shrill pipings of the different boatswain's mates, each attending to separate duties, and the mingled clatter and noise of various kinds of work, all going on at the same time, gave something of the stir and animation of a dock-yard to the usually quiet *The Indicator,' vol. 2. From The New York Mirror,' an American weekly publication, |