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 lighten'd all the river with a blaze;
The waken'd tides began again to roar,
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;
To either hand his wings he opens wide;

He wades the streets, and straight he reaches cross,
And plays his longing flames on t'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 powerful charms of gold and silver led,

The Lombard bankers and the 'Change to waste.

Another backward to the Tower would go,
And slowly eats his way against the wind;
But the main body of the marching foe
Against the' 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.

More than his guards his sorrows made him known,
And pious tears which down his cheeks did show'r:
The wretched in his grief forgot their own;
So much the pity of a king has pow'r.

He wept the flames of what he lov'd so well,
And what so well had merited his love;
For never prince in grace did more excel,
Or royal city more in duty strove.

Nor with an idle care did he behold;

(Subjects may grieve, but monarchs must redress) He cheers the fearful and commends the bold, And makes despairers hope for good success.

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:
The' 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 a while 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 stay for passage, till a gust of wind

Ships o'er their forces in a shining sheet; Part creeping under ground, 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 the' 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 shipwreck'd gold, And seek the tempests which the others fly:

So these but wait the owners' last despair,

And what's permitted to the flames invade; E'en from their jaws the 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 general 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 wandering 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 labyrinths 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.

No thought can ease them but their Sovereign's care, Whose praise the' afflicted as their comfort sing: E'en those, whom want might drive to just despair, Think life's a blessing under such a King.

Mean time he sadly suffers in their grief,
Outweeps an hermit, and outprays a saint;
All the long night he studies their relief,
How they may be supplied, and he may want.

'O God! (said he) thou patron of my days,
Guide of my youth in exile and distress!
Who me unfriended brought'st, by wondrous ways,
The kingdom of my fathers to possess:

'Be thou my judge, with what unwearied care I since have labour'd for my people's good:

To bind the bruises of a Civil war,

And stop the issues of their wasting blood!

Thou, who hast taught me to forgive the ill, And recompense, as friends, the good misled; If mercy be a precept of thy will,

Return that mercy on thy servant's head.