When day had flown, when work was done,
And o'er the city set the sun,
Then folks to Lincoln's Inn would stray,
And sit among the shadows gray;
And there while shone the moonbeams pale,
They listened to the nightingale;
Oh! happy days, for it was so,
Two hundred weary years ago!
     Ah!

And if some June you chance to stray
Through Lincoln's Inn at close of day,
Then sit beneath some tall old tree,
Forgetting all sad things that be;
And in a dream perchance you'll hear
Glad memory's nightingales sing clear,
Sweet songs that used to wake and flow,
Two hundred weary years ago!
     Ah!