Extolled your beauties varied and serene;
When in the Octagon men heard Magee
And Lansdown teams rejoiced in “W. G.”
Fashion may veer; the elegant and witty—
Light come, light go—may scatter far and wide,
But still the terraced colonnaded city
Stands proudly by the silver Avon’s tide,
And scenes that move to wonder, praise and pity,
Touched gently by the hand of Time, abide;
Still, O immortal Bath, you wear your crown