I love it, oh, I love it still.
It stood beside the running brook
Whose waters turn’d the noisy mill;
And close beside the tall old oaks
That nodded on the sloping hill.
The woodbine creeping o’er the walls,
The sunshine on the grassy plot,
How beautiful were they to me,
When home was in that old brown cot!
The old brown cot, &c.