Of their martyr went forth to repent and to pray.
Though ages have roll'd since that bright April morn,
And the steps of the shrine holy palmers have worn,
As, weary and faint,
They kneel'd to their saint—
It still for all time shall in memory be borne.
Old Tabard! old Tabard! thy pilgrims are we!
What a beautiful shrine has the Bard made of thee I
When a ruin's thy roof,
And thy walls, massy proof—