The diligence of trades and noiseful gain,

And luxury, more late, asleep was 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 the infant monster, with devouring strong,
Walk'd boldly upright with exalted head.

Now like some rich and mighty murderer,
Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold,
Who fresher for new mischiefs doth appear

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And dares the world to tax him with the old, 40

So scapes the 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.

And now, no longer letted of his prey,
He leaps up at it with enraged desire,
O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey,
And nods at every house his threatening fire.

The ghosts of traitors from the Bridge descend,
With bold fanatic spectres to rejoice;
About the fire into a dance they bend,

And sing their Sabbath notes with feeble voice.

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Our guardian angel saw them where they sate,
Above the palace of our slumbering king;
He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to Fate,

And drooping, oft looked back upon the wing.

At length the crackling noise and dreadful blaze
Call'd up some waking lover to the sight;
And long it was ere he the rest could raise

Whose heavy eyelids yet were full of night. 60

The next to danger, hot pursued by fate,

Half-clothed, 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 jostle as they meet.

Now streets grow throng'd, and busy as by day:
Some run for buckets to the hallowed quire;
Some cut the pipes, and some the engines play,
And some, more bold, mount ladders to the fire.

Old father Thames raised 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.

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The fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross;
To either hand his wings he opens wide;
He wades the streets, and straight he reaches 'cross,
And plays his longing flames on th' other side.

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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.

Now day appears, and with the day the king,
Whose early care had robb'd him of his rest;
Far off the cracks of falling houses ring,

And shrieks of subjects pierce his tender breast.

Himself directs what first is to be done,

And orders all the succours which they bring; 90 The helpful and the good about him run, And form an army worthy such a king.

No help avails; for, Hydra-like, the Fire
Lifts up his hundred heads to aim his way;
And scarce the wealthy can one half retire,
Before he rushes in to share the prey.

At length the Almighty cast a pitying eye,
And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast;
He saw the town's one half in rubbish lie,

And eager flames drive on to storm the rest.

The vanquish'd fires withdraw from every place,
Or, full with feeding, sink into a sleep:
Each household genius shows again his face,
And from the hearths the little Lares creep.

Methinks already from this chemic flame,
I see a city of more precious mould;
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver paved, and all divine with gold.

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Already labouring with a mighty fate,

She shakes the rubbish from her mountain brow, 110 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,
Who sat to bathe her by a river's side;
Not answering to her fame, but rude and low,
Nor taught the beauteous arts of modern pride. 120

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.

JOHN DRYDEN.

THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN.

(1688)

A good sword and a trusty hand,
A merry heart and true!

King James's men shall understand
What Cornishmen can do.

And have they fixed the where and when
And shall Trelawney die?

Then twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why!

Out spake the captain, brave and bold,—
A merry wight was he;

Though London Tower were Michael's hold,
We'll set Trelawney free.

We'll cross the Tamar, land to land,

The Severn is no stay;

And side by side, and hand in hand,
And who shall bid us nay?

And when we come to London wall,
A pleasant sight to view;-

Come forth, come forth, ye cowards, all;
Here are better men than you!

Trelawney he's in keep in hold,
Trelawney he may die,

But twenty thousand Cornish bold
Will know the reason why!

R. S. HAWKER.

IO

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