O good old days of highwaymen,
Of outlaws hid in moor and fen,
Of elf or goblin in the glen,
When dragons crawled and men were men !
How sad it is to sit and know
That we can never backwards go !
Time in its solemn even flow
Forgets the arrow and the bow
Forgets the days of sword and shield
How one would rather die than yield,
At tourneys how the trumpets pealed,
And horse and rider plunged and reeled. . .
The moonlight still is pale and wan,
The same sun shines that's always shone,
Yet all these things are past and gone,
And won't come back for thinking on.
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