Classic Poem

THE tough yew fashioned his bow,
The grey goose feathered his shaft.
Where the shadowy greenwoods grow
The swift deer taught him his craft;
But the heart of the Bowman—who'll gainsay
That his heart belonged to an older day?

Where the savage shouldered his spear,
Where the cave-man carried his club,
When the skin-clad hunted the deer
And the naked strangled the cub,
The heart of the Bowman leapt and flamed
At the tap of a hoof in a land untamed.

And to-day when the clean fish leaps,
And to-day when the red fox runs,
When the challenging grouse-pack sweeps
In a brown cloud over the guns,
Our heart is the Bowman's heart awake
To the glint of a horn in the tangled brake.