Forest Gate
(written during his final illness in April 1883 )
A few roods only from a carn,
'Mid Druid rocks sedate,
In sun and shower, in calm and storm,
Lay sleepy Forest Gate,
And here it was my school days passed,
'Mid flowers and humming bees,
Like winds that lead the summer hours,
Or brooks among the trees.
O Forest Gate, O Forest Gate,
Beside the lone highway.
There is a fragrance in thy name
Which never will decay.
Around thee lie the granite tors,
On hill and mystic moor,
And all thy rushy hollows teem
With legendary lore.
What games we played when lessons closed,
And out we rushed with glee,
Like sheep through some down-trodden fence,
Or wire-caged birds set free!
And how we told our simple tales
Within the hawthorn bower,
Till eve had called the glow-worms forth,
And folded every flower!
The low house with its roof of thatch,
Beside the highway pool,
Has passed away, as well as he
Who kept the country school.
But ever pleasant are my thoughts,
Even at this distant date,
When memory leads my spirit back
To dreamy Forest Gate.
O Forest Gate, O Forest Gate,
A spell is on thee yet,
Although thy dim scholastic sun
In clouds and storms has set.
No Greek or Latin could atone,
Or bring so rich a meed,
For what I learnt in simple phrase
Beneath thy roof of reed.
