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A book of Bristol sonnets

By H. D. Rawnsley

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ST. MARY REDCLIFFE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


16

ST. MARY REDCLIFFE.

Queen of the western land, for so we name
Thy 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.
 

Spire struck by lightning, 1445; rebuilded, and completed May 10th, 1872—on which occasion the Mayor (W. Proctor Baker, Esq.) and his wife ascended to the capstone of the new spire during a violent thunder-storm, which passed off before the feat was completed.

“But, by his chest”—Chatterton worked at his old English by deciphering manuscripts in a muniment chest in the north porch.