The Outlaw

THE CHOUGH and crow to roost are gone,

The owl sits on the tree,

The hush’d wind wails with feeble moan,

Like infant charity.

The wild-fire dances on the fen,

The red star sheds its ray,

Up-rouse ye, then, my merry men!

It is our opening day.

Both child and nurse are fast asleep,

And clos’d is every flower,

And winking tapers faintly peep

High from my Lady’s bower;

Bewilder’d hinds with shorten’d ken

Shrink on their murky way,

Up-rouse ye, then, my merry men!

It is our opening day.

Nor board nor garner own we now,

Nor roof nor latchèd door,

Nor kind mate bound by holy vow

To bless a good man’s store;

Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,

And night is grown our day,

Up-rouse ye, then, my merry men!

And use it as ye may.