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The greenwood! the greenwood!
How balmy is the air,
How sweet the morning breeze that fans
The roebuck in his lair.
Oh! would that from these hated walls
I too might roam as free,
And tread the turf with steps as light
And heart as full of glee.
The greenwood! the greenwood!
How bright the dew-drops shine,
How gracefully the ivy wreaths
Around the old oaks twine.
Take all the feasts and festivals
This darksome city yields—
Give me the shade of forest bowers,
The sun-light of the fields.
