This was a fortress, firm and stout,
When there was battling round about,--
It has been deckt in gala--plight,
In days of ladie--love and knight,--
It' has known carouse and Provençal song,
And the dance right featly tript along,
While' the red yuhl--log and wassail bowl
Cheered the pilgrim's thirsty soul.
The swoop of Time has been to it
A bounty and a benefit,--
It has gained glory from those wings,
Which have annihilated Kings;
And now it stands in its massiveness,
Wi' the scars of many an age,
Like a lore--encumbered prophetess,
Who' has worn away her youthfulness,
In studies deep and sage.