His pulse was faint, his eye was dim,
And pale his brow of pride;
He heeded not the monkish hymn
They chanted by his side.
He knew his parting hour was come;
And fancy wandered now
To freedom's rude and lawless home,
Beneath the forest bough.
A faithful follower, standing by,
Asked where he would be laid;
Then round the chieftain's languid eye
A lingering lustre played.
"Now raise me on my dying bed,
Bring here my trusty bow,
And ere I join the silent dead,
My arm that spot shall show."
They raised him on his couch, and set
The casement open wide;
Once more with vain and fond regret
Fair Nature's face he eyed.
With kindling glance and throbbing heart
One parting look he cast,
Sped on its way the feathered dart,
Sank back! and breathed his last!
And where it fell they dug his grave,
Beneath the greenwood tree;
Meet resting-place for one so brave,
So lawless, frank, and free.