’Twas that London had poured all its filth and its stink
In the river, which flowed with the blackness of ink;
And I smelt—O ye gods! can no measure improve
This river of sewage that Londoners love?
Sweet valley of Thames—(here I speak of the west,
Where Richmond and Kew smile on waters more blest);
Oh, when shall this plague spot polluting thee cease,
And thy waters to ocean flow purely in peace?
Highly commended:—