Now Marvan, hermit of the grot,
Why sleep'st thou not on quilted feathers?
Why on a pitch-pine floor instead
At night make head against all weathers?


MARVAN

I have a shieling in the wood,
None save my God has knowledge of it,
An ash-tree and a hazelnut
Its two sides shut, great oak-boughs roof it.

Two heath-clad posts beneath a buckle
Of honeysuckle its frame are propping,
The woods around its narrow bound
Swine-fattening mast are richly dropping.

From out my shieling not too small,
Familiar all, fair paths invite me;
Now, blackbird, from my gable end,
Sweet sable friend, thy notes delight me.

With joys the stags of Oakridge leap
Into their clear and deep-banked river,
Far off red Roiny glows with joy,
Muckraw, Moinmoy in sunshine quiver.

With mighty mane a green-barked yew
Upholds the blue; his fortress green