A book of Bristol sonnets | ||
16
ST. MARY REDCLIFFE.
Queen of the western land, for so we nameThy carven splendours, whose majestic pile
The mounded waters with their masts en-isle,
Where Cabot worshipped, and where Cannynge came!
If, in old days, the envious lightning flame
Crashed down thy spire, and smote to dust the aisle,
To-day from frowning Heaven is forced a smile.
Set on her aeriest throne shines golden fame;
Few years, and they that honour thee are gone;
The breath of panting mills thy fairness grimes;
But, by his chest, laborious Chatterton
Kneels in thy porch, immortal to all times;
And, fresh from battle with the murderous sea,
The sailor thanks his God, and rests by thee.
A book of Bristol sonnets | ||