In London.
The mighty towers of Westminster
Loom beneath me in murk air,
While a vast expanse of street
Echoes to loud-hurrying feet
Of men and horses, and swift wheels,
Where a clanging steeple peals,
Where he, who with deep feeling cons
The souls of animals, in bronze
Wrought majestic lion forms,
Brooding, slumbering, dark storms,
Symbols of our England's power,
Whose dread lightnings brood and glower,
Like those fulvous eyes; their claws
Are death, hid sheathed in vasty paws.
On the lion a child gazes;
Grave brown wondering eyes he raises
To the form: compelled to leave,
With all my sight to him I cleave
In departing; often since
As from a sickening stroke I wince,
