They reach the town, the minster door;
The door they straightway pass;
And up the aisle and by the priest
That saith the holy mass.
Nor stay, until they reach the Crib
With all its wreathen greens;
And there above, with eyes of love,
The witch-child looks and leans!
Spake, then, the priest to all his flock:
“Forbid no more this child!