By Rufus' hall, where Thames polluted flows, <br />Provoked, the Genius of the river rose, <br />And thus exclaimed: 'Have I, ye British swains, <br />Have I for ages laved your fertile plains? <br />Given herds, and flocks, and villages increase, <br />And fed a richer than a golden fleece? <br />Have I, ye merchants, with each swelling tide, <br />Poured Afric's treasure in, and India's pride? <br />Lent you the fruit of every nation's toil? <br />Made every climate yours, and every soil? <br />Yet, pilfered from the poor, by gaming base, <br />Yet must a wooden bridge my waves disgrace? <br />Tell not to foreign streams the shameful tale, <br />And be it published is no Gallic vale.' <br />He said; and plunging to his crystal dome, <br />While o'er his head the circling waters foam.<br /><br />James Thomson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-report-that-a-wooden-bridge-was-to-be-built-at-westminster/
