That's rather fine, the gentle sound of Thamis—

Who vindicates a moment, too, his stream—

Though hardly heard through multifarious "damme's:"

The lamps of Westminster's more regular gleam,

The breadth of pavement, and yon shrine where Fame is

A spectral resident—whose pallid beam

In shape of moonshine hovers o'er the pile—

Make this a sacred part of Albion's isle.