Classic Poem

As when some dire usurper Heav'n 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,
And hurries him to mighty mischiefs on:
His Prince, surpris'd at first, no ill could doubt,
And wants the pow'r to meet it when 'tis known:

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, a sleep 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 scatt'ring sparks about were blown,
Big with the flames that to our ruin rose.

Then, in some close-pent room it crept along,
And smould'ring 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,
Too great for prison, which he breaks with gold,
Who fresher for new mischiefs does appear
And dares the world to tax him with the old:

So scapes th'insulting Fire his narrow jail
And makes small out-lets 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
His flames from burning but to blow them more:
And every fresh attempt he is repell'd
With faint denials weaker than before.

And now, no longer letted of his prey,
He leaps up at it with enrag'd desire:
O'erlooks the neighbours with a wide survey,
And nods at every house his threat'ning 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.

Our Guardian Angel saw them where he sate
Above the palace of our slumb'ring king;
He sigh'd, abandoning his charge to fate,
And, drooping, oft lookt 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.

The next to danger, hot pursued by fate,
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 quay of fire ran all along the shore,
And lighten'd all the river with a blaze:
The waken'd tides began a gain to roar,
And wond'ring 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;
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.

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.

One mighty squadron, with a side-wind sped,
Through narrow lanes his cumber'd fire does haste:
By pow'rful charms of gold and silver led,
The Lombard bankers and the Change to waste.

Another backward to the Tow'r would go,
And slowly eats his way against the wind:
But the main body of the marching foe
Against th'imperial palace is design'd.

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.

Near as he draws, thick harbingers of smoke
With gloomy pillars cover all the place:
Whose little intervals of night are broke
By sparks, that drive against his sacred face . . .

Himself directs what first is to be done,
And orders all the succours which they bring:
The helpful and the good about him run,
And form an army worthy such a king.

He sees the dire contagion spread so fast
That where it seizes, all relief is vain:
And therefore must unwillingly lay waste
That country, which would, else, the foe maintain.

The powder blows up all before the fire:
Th'amazed flames stand gather'd on a heap;
And from the precipice's brink retire,
Afraid to venture on so large a leap.

Thus fighting fires awhile themselves consume,
But straight like Turks, forc'd on to win or die,
They first lay tender bridges of their fume,
And o'er the breach in unctuous vapours fly.

Part stays for passage, till a gust of wind
Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet:
Part, creeping underground their journey blind,
And climbing from below, their fellows meet.

Thus to some desert plain, or old wood-side,
Dire night-hags come from far to dance their round:
And o'er broad rivers, on their fiends, they ride,
Or sweep in clouds above the blasted ground.

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.

The rich grow suppliant, and the poor grow proud:
Those offer mighty gain, and these ask more;
So void of pity is th'ignoble crowd,
When others' ruin may increase their store.

As those who live by shores with joy behold
Some wealthy vessel split or stranded nigh,
And from the rocks leap down for shipwrack'd gold
And seek the tempest which the others fly,

So these but wait the owner's last despair,
And what's permitted to the flames invade:
Ev'n from their jaws they hungry morsels tear,
And on their backs the spoils of Vulcan lade.

The days were all in this lost labour spent;
And when the weary king gave place to night,
His beams he to his royal brother lent,
And so shone still in his reflective light.

Night came, but without darkness or repose,
A dismal picture of the gen'ral doom;
Where souls distracted when the trumpet blows
And half unready with their bodies come.

Those who have homes, when home they do repair,
To a last lodging call their wand'ring friends:
Their short uneasy sleeps are broke with care,
To look how near their own destruction tends.

Those who have none, sit round where once it was,
And with full eyes each wonted room require:
Haunting the yet warm ashes of the place,
As murder'd men walk where they did expire.

Some stir up coals, and watch the vestal fire,
Others in vain from sight of ruin run;
And while through burning lab'rinths they retire,
With loathing eyes repeat what they would shun.

The most in fields like herded beasts lie down,
To dews obnoxious on the grassy floor;
And while their babes in sleep their sorrows drown,
Sad parents watch the remnants of their store.

While by the motion of the flames they guess
What streets are burning now, and what are near,
An infant waking to the paps would press,
And meets, instead of milk, a falling tear . . .