All now by weeds and ivy overgrown,
And touched by Time, that hurls down stone from stone.
We gaze with scorn on what is worn away,
And never dream about our own decay.
Thus, while this May-day cheers each flower and tree,
Enlivening earth and almost cheering me,
I half forget the mouldering moats of Leigh.
'Wide Lancashire has changed its babyhood,
As Time makes saplings spring to timber wood;
But as grown men their childhood still remember,