Who On Their Lions For The Prey Attend. Silent In Smoke Of Cannon They Come On: Such Vapours Once Did Fiery Cacus[7] Hide: In These The Height Of Pleased Revenge Is Shown, Who Burn Contented By Another'S Side. Sometimes From Fighting Squadrons Of Each Fleet, Deceived Themselves, Or To Preserve Some Friend, Two Grappling ?Tnas On The Ocean Meet, And English Fires With Belgian Flames Contend. Now At Each Tack Our Little Fleet Grows Less; And Like Maim'D Fowl, Swim Lagging On The Main: Their Greater Loss Their Numbers Scarce Confess, While They Lose Cheaper Than The English Gain. Have You Not Seen, When, Whistled From The Fist, Some Falcon Stoops At What Her Eye Design'D, And, With Her Eagerness The Quarry Miss'D, Straight Flies At Check, And Clips It Down The Wind. The Dastard Crow That To The Wood Made Wing, And Sees The Groves No Shelter Can Afford, With Her Loud Caws Her Craven Kind Does Bring, Who, Safe In Numbers, Cuff The Noble Bird. Among The Dutch Thus Albemarle[8] Did Fare: He Could Not Conquer, And Disdain'D To Fly; Past Hope Of Safety, 'Twas His Latest Care, Like Falling C?Sar, Decently To Die. Yet Pity Did His Manly Spirit Move, To See Those Perish Who So Well Had Fought; And Generously With His Despair He Strove, Resolved To Live Till He Their Safety Wrought. Let Other Muses Write His Prosperous Fate, Of Conquer'D Nations Tell, And Kings Restored; But Mine Shall Sing Of His Eclipsed Estate, Which, Like The Sun'S, More Wonders Does Afford. He Drew His Mighty Frigates All Before, On Which The Foe His Fruitless Force Employs: His Weak Ones Deep Into His Rear He Bore Remote From Guns, As Sick Men From The Noise. His Fiery Cannon Did Their Passage Guide, And Following Smoke Obscured Them From The Foe: Thus Israel Safe From The Egyptian'S Pride, By Flaming Pillars, And By Clouds Did Go. Elsewhere The Belgian Force We Did Defeat, But Here Our Courages Did Theirs Subdue: So Xenophon Once Led That Famed Retreat, Which First The Asian Empire Overthrew. The Foe Approach'D; And One For His Bold Sin Was Sunk; As He That Touch'D The Ark Was Slain: The Wild Waves Master'D Him And Suck'D Him In, And Smiling Eddies Dimpled On The Main. This Seen, The Rest At Awful Distance Stood: As If They Had Been There As Servants Set To Stay, Or To Go On, As He Thought Good, And Not Pursue, But Wait On His Retreat. So Lybian Huntsmen, On Some Sandy Plain, From Shady Coverts Roused, The Lion Chase: The Kingly Beast Roars Out With Loud Disdain, And Slowly Moves, Unknowing To Give Place. But If Some One Approach To Dare His Force, He Swings His Tail, And Swiftly Turns Him Round; With One Paw Seizes On His Trembling Horse, And With The Other Tears Him To The Ground. Amidst These Toils Succeeds The Balmy Night; Now Hissing Waters The Quench'D Guns Restore; And Weary Waves, Withdrawing From The Fight, Lie Lull'D And Panting On The Silent Shore: The Moon Shone Clear On The Becalmed Flood, Where, While Her Beams Like Glittering Silver Play, Upon The Deck Our Careful General Stood, And Deeply Mused On The Succeeding Day. That Happy Sun, Said He, Will Rise Again, Who Twice Victorious Did Our Navy See: And I Alone Must View Him Rise In Vain, Without One Ray Of All His Star For Me. Yet Like An English General Will I Die, And All The Ocean Make My Spacious Grave: Women And Cowards On The Land May Lie; The Sea'S A Tomb That's Proper For The Brave. Restless He Pass'D The Remnant Of The Night, Till The Fresh Air Proclaimed The Morning Nigh: And Burning Ships, The Martyrs Of The Fight, With Paler Fires Beheld The Eastern Sky. But Now, His Stores Of Ammunition Spent, His Naked Valour Is His Only Guard; Rare Thunders Are From His Dumb Cannon Sent, And Solitary Guns Are Scarcely Heard. Thus Far Had Fortune Power, Here Forced To Stay, Nor Longer Durst With Virtue Be At Strife: This As A Ransom Albemarle Did Pay, For All The Glories Of So Great A Life. For Now Brave Rupert From Afar Appears, Whose Waving Streamers The Glad General Knows: With Full Spread Sails His Eager Navy Steers, And Every Ship In Swift Proportion Grows. The Anxious Prince Had Heard The Cannon Long, And From That Length Of Time Dire Omens Drew Of English Overmatch'D, And Dutch Too Strong, Who Never Fought Three Days, But To Pursue. Then, As An Eagle, Who, With Pious Care Was Beating Widely On The Wing For Prey, To Her Now Silent Eyrie Does Repair, And Finds Her Callow Infants Forced Away: Stung With Her Love, She Stoops Upon The Plain, The Broken Air Loud Whistling As She Flies: She Stops And Listens, And Shoots Forth Again, And Guides Her Pinions By Her Young Ones' Cries. With Such Kind Passion Hastes The Prince To Fight, And Spreads His Flying Canvas To The Sound; Him, Whom No Danger, Were He There, Could Fright, Now Absent Every Little Noise Can Wound. As In A Drought The Thirsty Creatures Cry, And Gape Upon The Gather'D Clouds For Rain, And First The Martlet Meets It In The Sky, And With Wet Wings Joys All The Feather'D Train. With Such Glad Hearts Did Our Despairing Men Salute The Appearance Of The Prince'S Fleet; And Each Ambitiously Would Claim The Ken, That With First Eyes Did Distant Safety Meet. The Dutch, Who Came Like Greedy Hinds Before, To Reap The Harvest Their Ripe Ears Did Yield, Now Look Like Those, When Rolling Thunders Roar, And Sheets Of Lightning Blast The Standing Field. Full In The Prince'S Passage, Hills Of Sand, And Dangerous Flats In Secret Ambush Lay; Where The False Tides Skim O'Er The Cover'D Land, And Seamen With Dissembled Depths Betray. The Wily Dutch, Who, Like Fallen Angels, Fear'D This New Messiah'S Coming, There Did Wait, And Round The Verge Their Braving Vessels Steer'D, To Tempt His Courage With So Fair A Bait. But He, Unmoved, Contemns Their Idle Threat, Secure Of Fame WheNe'er He Please To Fight: His Cold Experience Tempers All His Heat, And Inbred Worth Doth Boasting Valour Slight. Heroic Virtue Did His Actions Guide, And He The Substance, Not The Appearance Chose To Rescue One Such Friend He Took More Pride, Than To Destroy Whole Thousands Of Such Foes. But When Approach'D, In Strict Embraces Bound, Rupert And Albemarle Together Grow; He Joys To Have His Friend In Safety Found, Which He To None But To That Friend Would Owe. The Cheerful Soldiers, With New Stores Supplied, Now Long To Execute Their Spleenful Will; And, In Revenge For Those Three Days They Tried, Wish One, Like Joshua'S, When The Sun Stood Still. Thus Reinforced, Against The Adverse Fleet, Still Doubling Ours, Brave Rupert Leads The Way: With The First Blushes Of The Morn They Meet, And Bring Night Back Upon The New-Born Day. His Presence Soon Blows Up The Kindling Fight, And His Loud Guns Speak Thick Like Angry Men: It Seem'D As Slaughter Had Been Breathed All Night, And Death New Pointed His Dull Dart Again. The Dutch Too Well His Mighty Conduct Knew, And Matchless Courage Since The Former Fight; Whose Navy Like A Stiff-Stretch'D Cord Did Show, Till He Bore In And Bent Them Into Flight. The Wind He Shares, While Half Their Fleet Offends His Open Side, And High Above Him Shows: Upon The Rest At Pleasure He Descends, And Doubly Harm'D He Double Harms Bestows. Behind The General Mends His Weary Pace, And Sullenly To His Revenge He Sails: So Glides Some Trodden Serpent On The Grass, And Long Behind His Wounded Volume Trails. The Increasing Sound Is Borne To Either Shore, And For Their Stakes The Throwing Nations Fear: Their Passions Double With The Cannons' Roar, And With Warm Wishes Each Man Combats There. Plied Thick And Close As When The Fight Begun, Their Huge Unwieldy Navy Wastes Away; So Sicken Waning Moons Too Near The Sun, And Blunt Their Crescents On The Edge Of Day. And Now Reduced On Equal Terms To Fight, Their Ships Like Wasted Patrimonies Show; Where The Thin Scattering Trees Admit The Light, And Shun Each Other'S Shadows As They Grow. The Warlike Prince Had Sever'D From The Rest Two Giant Ships, The Pride Of All The Main; Which With His One So Vigorously He Prest, And Flew So Home They Could Not Rise Again. Already Batter'D, By His Lee They Lay, In Rain Upon The Passing Winds They Call: The Passing Winds Through Their Torn Canvas Play, And Flagging Sails On Heartless Sailors Fall. Their Open'D Sides Receive A Gloomy Light, Dreadful As Day Let Into Shades Below: Without, Grim Death Rides Barefaced In Their Sight, And Urges Entering Billows As They Flow. When One Dire Shot, The Last They Could Supply, Close By The Board The Prince'S Mainmast Bore: All Three Now Helpless By Each Other Lie, And This Offends Not, And Those Fear No More. So Have I Seen Some Fearful Hare Maintain A Course, Till Tired Before The Dog She Lay: Who, Stretch'D Behind Her, Pants Upon The Plain, Past Power To Kill, As She To Get Away. With His Loll'D Tongue He Faintly Licks His Prey; His Warm Breath Blows Her Flix[9] Up As She Lies; She Trembling Creeps Upon The Ground Away, And Looks Back To Him With Beseeching Eyes. The Prince Unjustly Does His Stars Accuse, Which Hinder'D Him To Push His Fortune On; For What They To His Courage Did Refuse, By Mortal Valour Never Must Be Done. This Lucky Hour The Wise Batavian Takes, And Warns His Tatter'D Fleet To Follow Home; Proud To Have So Got Off With Equal Stakes, Where 'Twas A Triumph Not To Be O'Ercome. The General'S Force, As Kept Alive By Fight, Now Not Opposed, No Longer Can Pursue: Lasting Till Heaven Had Done His Courage Right; When He Had Conquer'D He His Weakness Knew. He Casts A Frown On The Departing Foe, And Sighs To See Him Quit The Watery Field: His Stern Fix'D Eyes No Satisfaction Show, For All The Glories Which The Fight Did Yield. Though, As When Fiends Did Miracles Avow, He Stands Confess'D E'En By The Boastful Dutch: He Only Does His Conquest Disavow, And Thinks Too Little What They Found Too Much. Return'D, He With The Fleet Resolved To Stay; No Tender Thoughts Of Home His Heart Divide; Domestic Joys And Cares He Puts Away; For Realms Are Households Which The Great Must Guide. As Those Who Unripe Veins In Mines Explore, On The Rich Bed Again The Warm Turf Lay, Till Time Digests The Yet Imperfect Ore, And Know It Will Be Gold Another Day: So Looks Our Monarch On This Early Fight, Th' Essay And Rudiments Of Great Success; Which All-Maturing Time Must Bring To Light, While He, Like Heaven, Does Each Day'S Labour Bless. Heaven Ended Not The First Or Second Day, Yet Each Was Perfect To The Work Design'D; God And King'S Work, When They Their Work Survey, A Passive Aptness In All Subjects Find. In Burden'D Vessels First, With Speedy Care, His Plenteous Stores Do Seasoned Timber Send; Thither The Brawny Carpenters Repair, And As The Surgeons Of Maim'D Ships Attend. With Cord And Canvas From Rich Hamburgh Sent, His Navy'S Molted Wings He Imps Once More: Tall Norway Fir, Their Masts In Battle Spent, And English Oak, Sprung Leaks And Planks Restore. All Hands Employ'D, The Royal Work Grows Warm: Like Labouring Bees On A Long Summer'S Day, Some Sound The Trumpet For The Rest To Swarm. And Some On Bells Of Tasted Lilies Play. With Gluey Wax Some New Foundations Lay Of Virgin-Combs, Which From The Roof Are Hung: Some Arm'D, Within Doors Upon Duty Stay, Or Tend The Sick, Or Educate The Young. So Here Some Pick Out Bullets From The Sides, Some Drive Old Oakum Through Each Seam And Rift: Their Left Hand Does The Calking-Iron Guide, The Rattling Mallet With The Right They Lift. With Boiling Pitch Another Near At Hand, From Friendly Sweden Brought, The Seams Instops: Which Well Paid O'Er, The Salt Sea Waves Withstand, And Shakes Them From The Rising Beak In Drops. Some The Gall'D Ropes With Dauby Marline Bind, Or Sear-Cloth Masts With Strong Tarpaulin Coats: To Try New Shrouds One Mounts Into The Wind, And One Below Their Ease Or Stiffness Notes. Our Careful Monarch Stands In Person By, His New-Cast Cannons' Firmness To Explore: The Strength Of Big-Corn'D Powder Loves To Try, And Ball And Cartridge Sorts For Every Bore. Each Day Brings Fresh Supplies Of Arms And Men, And Ships Which All Last Winter Were Abroad; And Such As Fitted Since The Fight Had Been, Or, New From Stocks, Were Fallen Into The Road. The Goodly London In Her Gallant Trim (The Phoenix Daughter Of The Vanish'D Old). Like A Rich Bride Does To The Ocean Swim, And On Her Shadow Rides In Floating Gold. Her Flag Aloft Spread Ruffling To The Wind, And Sanguine Streamers Seem The Flood To Fire; The Weaver, Charm'D With What His Loom Design'D, Goes On To Sea, And Knows Not To Retire. With Roomy Decks, Her Guns Of Mighty Strength, Whose Low-Laid Mouths Each Mounting Billow Laves; Deep In Her Draught, And Warlike In Her Length, She Seems A Sea-Wasp Flying On The Waves. This Martial Present, Piously Design'D, The Loyal City Give Their Best-Loved King: And With A Bounty Ample As The Wind, Built, Fitted, And Maintain'D, To Aid Him Bring. By Viewing Nature, Nature'S Handmaid, Art, Makes Mighty Things From Small Beginnings Grow: Thus Fishes First To Shipping Did Impart, Their Tail The Rudder, And Their Head The Prow. Some Log Perhaps Upon The Waters Swam, An Useless Drift, Which, Rudely Cut Within, And, Hollow'D, First A Floating Trough Became, And Cross Some Rivulet Passage Did Begin. In Shipping Such As This, The Irish Kern, And Untaught Indian, On The Stream Did Glide: Ere Sharp-Keel'D Boats To Stem The Flood Did Learn, Or Fin-Like Oars Did Spread From Either Side. Add But A Sail, And Saturn So Appear'D, When From Lost Empire He To Exile Went, And With The Golden Age To Tiber Steer'D, Where Coin And Commerce First He Did Invent. Rude As Their Ships Was Navigation Then; No Useful Compass Or Meridian Known; Coasting, They Kept The Land Within Their Ken, And Knew No North But When The Pole-Star Shone. Of All Who Since Have Used The Open Sea, Than The Bold English None More Fame Have Won: Beyond The Year, And Out Of Heaven'S High Way, They Make Discoveries Where They See No Sun. But What So Long In Vain, And Yet Unknown, By Poor Mankind'S Benighted Wit Is Sought, Shall In This Age To Britain First Be Shown, And Hence Be To Admiring Nations Taught. The Ebbs Of Tides And Their Mysterious Flow, We, As Art'S Elements, Shall Understand, And As By Line Upon The Ocean Go, Whose Paths Shall Be Familiar As The Land. Instructed Ships Shall Sail To Quick Commerce, By Which Remotest Regions Are Allied; Which Makes One City Of The Universe, Where Some May Gain, And All May Be Supplied. Then We Upon Our Globe'S Last Verge Shall Go, And View The Ocean Leaning On The Sky: From Thence Our Rolling Neighbours We Shall Know, And On The Lunar World Securely Pry. This I Foretell From Your Auspicious Care, Who Great In Search Of God And Nature Grow; Who Best Your Wise Creator'S Praise Declare, Since Best To Praise His Works Is Best To Know. O Truly Royal! Who Behold The Law And Rule Of Beings In Your Maker'S Mind: And Thence, Like Limbecks, Rich Ideas Draw, To Fit The Levell'D Use Of Human-Kind. But First The Toils Of War We Must Endure, And From The Injurious Dutch Redeem The Seas. War Makes The Valiant Of His Right Secure, And Gives Up Fraud To Be Chastised With Ease. Already Were The Belgians On Our Coast, Whose Fleet More Mighty Every Day Became By Late Success, Which They Did Falsely Boast, And Now By First Appearing Seem'D To Claim. Designing, Subtle, Diligent, And Close, They Knew To Manage War With Wise Delay: Yet All Those Arts Their Vanity Did Cross, And By Their Pride Their Prudence Did Betray. Nor Stay'D The English Long; But, Well Supplied, Appear As Numerous As The Insulting Foe: The Combat Now By Courage Must Be Tried, And The Success The Braver Nation Show. There Was The Plymouth Squadron Now Come In, Which In The Straits Last Winter Was Abroad; Which Twice On Biscay'S Working Bay Had Been, And On The Midland Sea The French Had Awed. Old Expert Allen,[10] Loyal All Along, Famed For His Action On The Smyrna Fleet: And Holmes, Whose Name Shall Live In Epic Song, While Music Numbers, Or While Verse Has Feet. Holmes, The Achates Of The General'S Fight; Who First Bewitch'D Our Eyes With Guinea Gold; As Once Old Cato In The Roman Sight The Tempting Fruits Of Afric Did Unfold. With Him Went Spragge, As Bountiful As Brave, Whom His High Courage To Command Had Brought: Harman, Who Did The Twice-Fired Harry Save, And In His Burning Ship Undaunted Fought. Young Hollis, On A Muse By Mars Begot, Born, C?Sar-Like, To Write And Act Great Deeds: Impatient To Revenge His Fatal Shot, His Right Hand Doubly To His Left Succeeds. Thousands Were There In Darker Fame That Dwell, Whose Deeds Some Nobler Poem Shall Adorn: And, Though To Me Unknown, They Sure Fought Well Whom Rupert Led, And Who Were British Born. Of Every Size An Hundred Fighting Sail: So Vast The Navy Now At Anchor Rides, That Underneath It The Press'D Waters Fail, And With Its Weight It Shoulders Off The Tides. Now Anchors Weigh'D, The Seamen Shout So Shrill, That Heaven And Earth And The Wide Ocean Rings: A Breeze From Westward Waits Their Sails To Fill, And Rests In Those High Beds His Downy Wings. The Wary Dutch This Gathering Storm Foresaw, And Durst Not Bide It On The English Coast: Behind Their Treacherous Shallows They Withdraw, And There Lay Snares To Catch The British Host. So The False Spider, When Her Nets Are Spread, Deep Ambush'D In Her Silent Den Does Lie: And Feels Far Off The Trembling Of Her Thread, Whose Filmy Cord Should Bind The Struggling Fly. Then If At Last She Find Him Fast Beset, She Issues Forth And Runs Along Her Loom: She Joys To Touch The Captive In Her Net, And Drags The Little Wretch In Triumph Home. The Belgians Hoped, That, With Disorder'D Haste, Our Deep-Cut Keels Upon The Sands Might Run: Or, If With Caution Leisurely Were Past, Their Numerous Gross Might Charge Us One By One. But With A Fore-Wind Pushing Them Above, And Swelling Tide That Heaved Them From Below, O'Er The Blind Flats Our Warlike Squadrons Move, And With Spread Sails To Welcome Battle Go. It Seem'D As There The British Neptune Stood, With All His Hosts Of Waters At Command. Beneath Them To Submit The Officious Flood; And With His Trident Shoved Them Off The Sand. To The Pale Foes They Suddenly Draw Near, And Summon Them To Unexpected Fight: They Start Like Murderers When Ghosts Appear, And Draw Their Curtains In The Dead Of Night. Now Van To Van The Foremost Squadrons Meet, The Midmost Battles Hastening Up Behind, Who View Far Off The Storm Of Falling Sleet, And Hear Their Thunder Rattling In The Wind. At Length The Adverse Admirals Appear; The Two Bold Champions Of Each Country'S Right: Their Eyes Describe The Lists As They Come Near, And Draw The Lines Of Death Before They Fight. The Distance Judged For Shot Of Every Size, The Linstocks Touch, The Ponderous Ball Expires: The Vigorous Seaman Every Port-Hole Plies, And Adds His Heart To Every Gun He Fires! Fierce Was The Fight On The Proud Belgians' Side, For Honour, Which They Seldom Sought Before! But Now They By Their Own Vain Boasts Were Tied, And Forced At Least In Show To Prize It More. But Sharp Remembrance On The English Part, And Shame Of Being Match'D By Such A Foe, Rouse Conscious Virtue Up In Every Heart, And Seeming To Be Stronger Makes Them So. Nor Long The Belgians Could That Fleet Sustain, Which Did Two Generals' Fates, And C?Sar'S Bear: Each Several Ship A Victory Did Gain, As Rupert Or As Albemarle Were There. Their Batter'D Admiral Too Soon Withdrew, Unthank'D By Ours For His Unfinish'D Fight; But He The Minds Of His Dutch Masters Knew, Who Call'D That Providence Which We Call'D Flight. Never Did Men More Joyfully Obey, Or Sooner Understood The Sign To Fly: With Such Alacrity They Bore Away, As If To Praise Them All The States Stood By. O Famous Leader[11] Of The Belgian Fleet, Thy Monument Inscribed Such Praise Shall Wear, As Varro, Timely Flying, Once Did Meet, Because He Did Not Of His Rome Despair. Behold That Navy, Which A While Before, Provoked The Tardy English Close To Fight, Now Draw Their Beaten Vessels Close To Shore, As Larks Lie, Dared, To Shun The Hobby'S Flight. Whoe'Er Would English Monuments Survey, In Other Records May Our Courage Know: But Let Them Hide The Story Of This Day, Whose Fame Was Blemish'D By Too Base A Foe. Or If Too Busily They Will Inquire Into A Victory Which We Disdain; Then Let Them Know The Belgians Did Retire Before The Patron Saint[12] Of Injured Spain. Repenting England This Revengeful Day To Philip'S Manes Did An Offering Bring: England, Which First By Leading Them Astray, Hatch'D Up Rebellion To Destroy Her King. Our Fathers Bent Their Baneful Industry, To Check A, Monarchy That Slowly Grew; But Did Not France Or Holland'S Fate Foresee, Whose Rising Power To Swift Dominion Flew. In Fortune'S Empire Blindly Thus We Go, And Wander After Pathless Destiny; Whose Dark Resorts Since Prudence Cannot Know, In Vain It Would Provide For What Shall Be. But Whate'Er English To The Bless'D Shall Go, And The Fourth Harry Or First Orange Meet; Find Him Disowning Of A Bourbon Foe, And Him Detesting A Batavian Fleet. Now On Their Coasts Our Conquering Navy Rides, Waylays Their Merchants, And Their Land Besets: Each Day New Wealth Without Their Care Provides; They Lie Asleep With Prizes In Their Nets. So, Close Behind Some Promontory Lie The Huge Leviathans To Attend Their Prey; And Give No Chase, But Swallow In The Fry, Which Through Their Gaping Jaws Mistake The Way. Nor Was This All: In Ports And Roads Remote, Destructive Fires Among Whole Fleets We Send: Triumphant Flames Upon The Water Float, And Out-Bound Ships At Home Their Voyage End. Those Various Squadrons Variously Design'D, Each Vessel Freighted With A Several Load, Each Squadron Waiting For A Several Wind, All Find But One, To Burn Them In The Road. Some Bound For Guinea, Golden Sand To Find, Bore All The Gauds The Simple Natives Wear; Some For The Pride Of Turkish Courts Design'D, For Folded Turbans Finest Holland Bear. Some English Wool, Vex'D In A Belgian Loom, And Into Cloth Of Spungy Softness Made, Did Into France, Or Colder Denmark, Doom, To Ruin With Worse Ware Our Staple Trade. 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! Which, Sent From Heaven, Like Lightning Make No Stay; Their Palling Taste The Journey'S Length Destroys, Or Grief, Sent Post, O'Ertakes Them On The Way. 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, By An High Fate Thou Greatly Didst Expire; Great As The World'S, Which, At The Death Of Time Must Fall, And Rise A Nobler Frame By Fire! As When Some Dire Usurper[13] 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, And Hurries Him To Mighty Mischiefs On: His Prince, Surprised At First, No Ill Could Doubt, And Wants The Power 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, 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 The 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 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. 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[14] 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. 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 Look'D 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-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. So Weary Bees In Little Cells Repose; But If Night-Robbers Lift The Well-Stored 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 Again To Roar, And Wondering Fish In Shining Waters Gaze. 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. 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 The 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, Unopposed, 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 Shower; The Wretched In His Grief Forgot Their Own; So Much The Pity Of A King Has Power. He Wept The Flames Of What He Loved 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 Amaz?D 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 Forced 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 Woodside, 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; Even 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 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: Even Those Whom Want Might Drive To Just Despair, Think Life A Blessing Under Such A King. Meantime He Sadly Suffers In Their Grief, Out-Weeps An Hermit, And Out-Prays 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. Or If My Heedless Youth Has Stepp'D Astray, Too Soon Forgetful Of Thy Gracious Hand; On Me Alone Thy Just Displeasure Lay, But Take Thy Judgments From This Mourning Land. We All Have Sinn'D, And Thou Hast Laid Us Low, As Humble Earth From Whence At First We Came: Like Flying Shades Before The Clouds We Show, And Shrink Like Parchment In Consuming Flame. O Let It Be Enough What Thou Hast Done; When Spotted Deaths Ran Arm'D Through Every Street, With Poison'D Darts Which Not The Good Could Shun, The Speedy Could Out-Fly, Or Valiant Meet. The Living Few, And Frequent Funerals Then, Proclaim'D Thy Wrath On This Forsaken Place; And Now Those Few Who Are Return'D Aga