"When old Canute the Dane was merry England's King,
A thousand years agone,
As ancient rymours sing,
His boat was rowing down the Ouse,
At eve, one summer day,
Where Ely's tall cathedral peered above the glassy way.
Anon, sweet music on his ear,
Comes floating from the fane,
And listening, as with all his soul,
Sat old Canute the Dane;
And reverent did he doff his crown,
To join the clerkly prayer,
While swelled old lauds and litanies upon the stilly air."