DOLOURS OF ST. DUNSTAN'S IN THE WEST.
Ye citizens of London, who some filial pity feel
For all her noble monuments, give ear to our appeal:
Leave meaner things, the strife of kings, of Sultan and of Czar,
And think of perils nearer home—the fate of Temple Bar.
Mad lev'llers shake their axes o'er our venerable gate—
The City's porch, where monarchs proud are told that they must wait:
To make more space for dingy dray, for omnibus and car,
The revolutionary cry is "Down with Temple Bar!"
Utilitarians, stern and cold, who argue, like the goose,
That ev'ry thing is useless which is not of any use,
Bethink you what our plight will be in times of civil jar:—
Where shall we stick our rebels' heads if we've no Temple Bar?
And if our relics, one by one, are thus to disappear,
What shall we have but narrow lanes to tempt a visit here?
How blank and pale will be their cheek, when pilgrims from afar
Shall pace Fleet Street, with pious feet, and see no Temple Bar!
The doom of Smithfield market's sealed;—gone is its ancient fair;
And soon the pomp of Lord Mayor's show may vanish into air;
Blackfriar's Bridge, pure Puddle Dock, the Monument, and, ah!
Ev'n Gog and Magog are not safe—then save poor Temple Bar.