Of City traffic roaring under me
Hath sapp’d me to the base, and to one side
Hath made me lean, as now you sadly see.
Two centuries ago I graced this spot,
When these old stones by fewer feet were worn;
But now stern Progress vows that I cannot
Block up the street, or longer here be borne.
Pity the sorrows of a poor old Bar,
Whose trembling walls unsightly timbers shore
Whom Time has mark’d with many an ugly scar,