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'Tis the freshest dew,
And the clearest, too,
That ever hung on leaf or flower;
And merry we skink
That wholesome drink,
Thorough the quiet of the midnight hour.
Wouldst thou know of me,
What our pastimes be?
'Tis the hunt and halloo,
The dim greenwood through;
O, bravely we prance it with hound and horn,
O'er moor and fell,
And hollow dell,
Till the notes of our Woodcraft wake the morn.
Wouldst thou know of me
What our garments be?
'Tis the viewless thread,
Which the gossamers spread
As they float in the cool of a summer eve bright,
And the down of the rose,
Form doublet and hose
For our Squires of Dames on each festal night.
