Our greedy seamen rummage every hold, Smile on the booty of each wealthier chest And, as the priests who with their gods make bold, Take what they like, and sacrifice the rest. But ah! how insincere are all our joys! [stay: Swell'd with our late successes on the foe, Which France and Holland wanted power to cross, We urge an unseen fate to lay us low, And feed their envious eyes with English loss. Each element his dread command obeys, Who makes or ruins with a smile or frown; Who, as by one he did our nation raise, So now he with another pulls us down. Yet, London, empress of the northern clime, As when some dire usurper Heaven provides, To scourge his country with a lawless sway; His birth, perhaps, some petty village hides, And sets his cradle out of Fortune's way: Till, fully ripe, his swelling fate breaks out, Such was the rise of this prodigious Fire, Which in mean buildings first obscurely bred, From thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread. The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury more late, asleep were laid: All was the Night's; and in her silent reign No sound the rest of Nature did invade. In this deep quiet, from what source unknown, Those seeds of Fire their fatal birth disclose; And first few scattering sparks about were blown, Big with the flames that to our ruin rose. Then in some close-pent room it crept along, And, smouldering as it went, in silence fed; Till th' infant monster, with devouring strong, Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head. Now like some rich or mighty murderer, So scapes th' insulting Fire his narrow jail, And makes small outlets into open air: There the fierce winds his tender force assail, And beat him downward to his first repair. The winds, like crafty courtesans, withheld And now no longer letted of his prey, He leaps up at it with enrag'd desire: O'erlooks the neighbors with a wide survey, And nods at every house his threatening fire. The ghosts of traitors from the bridge descend, And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice. Our guardian angel saw them where they sate At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze Half-cloth'd, half-naked, hastily retire: And frighted mothers strike their breasts too late For helpless infants left amidst the fire. Their cries soon waken all the dwellers near; Now murmuring noises rise in every street: The more remote run stumbling with their fear, And in the dark men justle as they meet. So weary bees in little cells repose; But if night-robbers lift the well-stor'd hive, An humming through their waxen city grows, And out upon each other's wings they drive. Now streets grow throng'd and busy as by day: Some run for buckets to the hallow'd quire: Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play; And some more bold mount ladders to the fire. In vain: for from the east a Belgian wind His hostile breath through the dry rafters sent, The flames impell'd soon left their foes behind, And forward with a wanton fury went. A key of fire ran all along the shore, And wondering fish in shining waters gaze. Old father Thames rais'd up his reverend head, But fear'd the fate of Simois would return: Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, And shrunk his waters back into his urn. The Fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross; At first they warm, then scorch, and then they take; Now with long necks from side to side they feed; At length grown strong, their mother Fire forsake And a new colony of Flames succeed. To every nobler portion of the town The curling billows roll their restless tide In parties now they straggle up and down, As armies unoppos'd for prey divide. "Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou may'st re- As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth, voke: But if immutable and fix'd they stand, Continue still thyself to give the stroke, And let not foreign foes oppress thy land." Th' Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword; And bade him swiftly drive th' approaching Fire From where our naval magazines were stor'd. The blessed minister his wings display'd, And like a shooting star he cleft the night: He charg'd the flames, and those that disobey'd He lash'd to duty with his sword of light. The fugitive Flames, chastis'd, went forth to prey The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes, Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long, And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise. The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far The awful beauties of the sacred quire: But, since it was profan'd by civil war, Heav'n thought it fit to have it purg'd by fire. Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came, A kindly thaw unlocks it with cold rain; And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, [grain: And straight the green fields laugh with promis'd Now frequent trines the happier lights among, Methinks already from this chymic flame, Already laboring with a mighty fate, She shakes the rubbish from her mounting brow, And seems to have renew'd her charter's date, Which Heaven will to the death of Time allow. More great than human now, and more august, Now deified she from her fires does rise: Her widening streets on new foundations trust, And opening into larger parts she flies. Before she like some shepherdess did show, Now like a maiden queen she will behold, From her high turrets, hourly suitors come; The East with incense, and the West with gold, Will stand like suppliants to receive her doom. The silver Thames, her own domestic flood, Shall bear her vessels like a sweeping train; And often wind, as of his mistress proud, With longing eyes to meet her face again. The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast, And Seyne, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost. The venturous merchant, who design'd more far, Our powerful navy shall no longer meet, The wealth of France or Holland to invade; The beauty of this town without a fleet, From all the world shall vindicate her trade. And while this fam'd emporium we prepare, The British ocean shall such triumphs boast, That those, who now disdain our trade to share, Shall rob like pirates on our wealthy coast. Already we have conquer'd half the war, And the less dangerous part is left behind: Our trouble now is but to make them dare, And not so great to vanquish as to find. Thus to the eastern wealth through storms we go, A constant trade-wind will securely blow, With ravish'd ears And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung. The jolly god in triumph comes; He shows his honest face; Now give the hautboys breath: he comes, he comes Drinking joys did first ordain; Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain |