Let us now sing of Bill, good sirs! Follow him, all green foresteres, Fearless of Hyrcanian bears As of these ghostly lilies! For O, not Drayton there could sing Of wild Pigwiggen and his King So merry a jest, so jolly a thing As this my tale of Bill is. _Chorus:_ Into the woods where Bill is! Now starts he as a white owl hoots, And now he stumbles over roots, And now beneath his big sea-boots In yon deep glade he crunches Black cakes of honey-comb that were So elfin-sweet, perchance, last year; But neither Bo'sun, now, nor Bear At that dark banquet munches. _Chorus:_ Onward still he crunches! Black cakes of honey-comb he sees Above him in the forks of trees, Filled by stars instead of bees, With brimming silver glisten: But ah, such food of gnome and fay Could neither Bear nor Bill delay Till where yon ferns and moonbeams play He starts and stands to listen! _Chorus:_ What melody doth he listen? Is it the Night-Wind as it comes Through the wood and softly thrums Silvery tabors, purple drums, To speed some wild-wood revel? Nay, Didymus, what faint sweet din Of viol and flute and violin Makes all the forest round thee spin, The Night-Wind or the Devil? _Chorus:_ No doubt at all--the Devil! He stares, with naked knife in hand, This buccaneer in fairyland! Dancing in a saraband The red ferns reel about him! Dancing in a morrice-ring The green ferns curtsey, kiss and cling! Their Marians flirt, their Robins fling Their feathery heels to flout him! _Chorus:_ The whole wood reels about him. Dance, ye shadows! O'er the glade, Bill, the Bo'sun, undismayed, Pigeon-toes with glittering blade! Drake was never bolder! Devil or Spaniard, what cares he Whence your eerie music be? Till--lo, against yon old oak-tree He leans his brawny shoulder! _Chorus:_ He lists and leans his shoulder!