THE PERFECT CITY

Bristol

How proud,
Opposed to Walton's silent towers, how proud,
With all her spires and fanes and volumed smoke,
Trailing in columns to the midday sun,
Black, or pale blue, above the cloudy haze,
And the great stir of commerce, and the noise
Of passing and repassing wains, and cars,
And sledges grating in their underpath,
And trade's deep murmur, and a street of masts
And pennants from all nations of the earth,
Streaming below the houses, piled aloft,
Hill above hill; and every road below
Gloomy with troops of coal-nymphs, seated high
On their rough pads, in dingy dust serene ;-
How proudly amid sights and sounds like these,
Bristol, through all whose smoke, dark and aloof,
Stands Redcliff's solemn fane,-how proudly girt
With villages, and Clifton's airy rocks,
Bristol, the mistress of the Severn sea,-
Bristol, amid her merchant palaces.
That ancient city, sits!

William Lisle Bowles