By Wood And Wold - A Preamble

'Beneath the greenwood bough.' - W. Scott. Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows, Though laden with faint perfume, 'Tis the fragrance rare that the bushman knows, The scent of the wattle bloom. Two-thirds of our journey at least are done, Old horse! let us take a spell In the shade from the glare of the noonday sun, Thus far we have travell'd well; Your bridle I'll slip, your saddle ungirth, And lay them beside this log, For you'll roll in that track of reddish earth, And shake like a water-dog. Upon yonder rise there's a clump of trees, Their shadows look cool and broad, You can crop the grass as fast as you please, While I stretch my limbs on the sward; 'Tis pleasant, I ween, with a leafy screen O'er the weary head, to lie On the mossy carpet of emerald green, 'Neath the vault of the azure sky; Thus all alone by the wood and wold, I yield myself once again To the memories old that, like tales fresh told, Come flitting across the brain.