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Poem	There runs a road by Merrow Down-- A grassy track to-day it is-- An hour out Guildford town, Above the river Wey it is. Here, when they heard the hors-bells ring, The ancient Britons dressed and rode To which the dark Phoenicians bring Their goods along the Western Road. Yes, here, or hereabouts, they met To hold their racial talks and such-- To barter beads for Whitby jet, And tin for gay shell torques and such. But long ago before that time (When bison used to roam on it) Did Taffy and her Daddy climb That Down, and had their home on it. Then beavers built in Broadstonebrook And made a swamp where Bramley stands; And bears from Shere would come and look For Taffimai where Shamley stands. The Wey, that Taffy called Wagai, Was more than six times bigger then; And all the Tribe of Tegumai They cut a noble figure then! II Of all the Tribe of Tegumai Who cut that figure, none remain,-- On Merrow Down the cuckoos cry-- The silence and the sun remain. But as the faithful years return And hearts unwounded sing again, Comes Taffy dancing through the fern To lead the Surrey spring again. Her brows are bound with bracken-fronds, And golden elf-locks fly above; Her eyes are bright as diamonds And bluer than the sky above. In moccasins and deer-skin cloak, Unfearing, free and fair she flits, And lights her little damp-wood smoke To show her Daddy where she flits. For far--oh, very far behind, So far she cannot call to him, Comes Tegumai alone to find The daughter that was all to him!
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