Ere, driven from its envied site, it found,
A sacred shelter for its branches here;
Where edged with gold its glittering skirts appear.
Oh wassel days! O customs meet and well!
Ere this was banish’d from its lofty sphere;
Simplicity then sought this humble cell,
Nor ever would she more with thane and lordling dwell.
Here oft the dame, on Sabbath’s decent eve,
Hymnèd such psalms as Sternhold forth did mete
If winter ’twere, she to her hearth did cleave,