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THE HERMIT,
i.
OUT in the greenwood free,
Lord of myself to be !
Far from the fuming and fretting of men. —
Surely the father was feeble then :
" This be your penance," said he.
All the day long mine own,
Never a jarring tone ;
Now shall I sing as a friar should sing,
Now to the altar pure incense shall bring,
Living for worship alone.
Come to me, beasts so fair ;
Flourish, ye rlow'rets rare, —
All the creation is perfect but man ;
He is the outlaw, and lives under ban,
Poisons the innocent air.
