Storied of old in high immortal verse / Of dire chimeras and enchanted isles, / And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell.

A thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory, Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, And airy tongues that syllable men's names On sands and shores and desert wildernesses

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large.

An old, and haughty nation proud in arms.

Beauty is Nature's brag, and must be shown/ In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities.

The bridge is getting old and it is an indication it is continuing to weaken. So that type of storm we saw (Wednesday) is something we expect to see in the future.