The reverie however was transient; king, courtier, and steel-
clad warrior, and forester in green, with horn, and hawk, and hound,
all faded again into oblivion, and I awoke to all that remained of this
once stirring scene of human pomp and power--a mouldering oak, and a
tradition.
"We are such stuff as dreams are made of!"
A ride of a few miles farther brought us at length among the venerable
and classic shades of Sherwood, Here I was delighted to find myself in
a genuine wild wood, of primitive and natural growth, so rarely to be
met with in this thickly peopled and highly cultivated country. It
reminded me of the aboriginal forests of my native land. I rode through
natural alleys and green-wood groves, carpeted with grass and shaded by
lofty and beautiful birches. What most interested me, however, was to
behold around me the mighty trunks of veteran oaks, old monumental
trees, the patriarchs of Sherwood Forest. They were shattered, hollow,
and moss-grown, it is true, and their "leafy honors" were nearly
departed; but like mouldering towers they were noble and picturesque in
their decay, and gave evidence, even in their ruins, of their ancient
grandeur.
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