Old Tyningham! thy nut-brown ale

Old Tyningham! thy nut-brown ale In reaming bumpers flowing, Once roused the woodman’s sober tale, And set his heart a-glowing; Around yon elm, with nimble feet, They danced—conversed—where green-boughs wave; The tree which screen’d from summer’s heat, Now shades their viewless grave! Thy ancient village, stone by stone, Removed—its rural inmates gone! But oft a mossy stone appears Amidst the leafy solitude, That marks, where met in other years The aged tenants of the wood.