Poetical Works of John Dryden, Volume 1 — Annus Mirabilis Stanzas 202-304

201 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.

202 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.

203 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.

204 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.

205 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.

206 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.

207 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.

208 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.

209 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.

210 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.

211 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.

212 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!

213 As when some dire usurper[48] 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.

214 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.

215 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.

216 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.

217 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.

218 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.

219 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: 220 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.

221 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.

222 And now no longer letted[49] 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.

223 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.

224 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.

225 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.

226 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.

227 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.

228 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.

229 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.

230 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.

231 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.

232 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.

233 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.

234 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.

235 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.

236 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.

237 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. 238 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.

239 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.

240 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.

241 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.

242 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.

243 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.

244 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.

245 The powder blows up all before the fire: The amazèd flames stand gather'd on a heap;

And from the precipice's brink retire, Afraid to venture on so large a leap.

246 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.

247 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.

248 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.

249 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.

250 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.

251 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: 252 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.

253 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.

254 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.

255 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.

256 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.

257 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.

258 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.

259 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.

260 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.

261 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.

262 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: 263 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.

264 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.

265 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.

266 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.

267 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.

268 The living few, and frequent funerals then, Proclaim'd thy wrath on this forsaken place;

And now those few who are return'd again, Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace.

269 O pass not, Lord, an absolute decree, Or bind thy sentence unconditional!

But in thy sentence our remorse foresee, And in that foresight this thy doom recall.

270 Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou mayst revoke: But if immutable and fix'd they stand, Continue still thyself to give the stroke, And let not foreign foes oppress thy land.

271 The Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword;

And bade him swiftly drive the approaching fire From where our naval magazines were stored.

272 The blessed minister his wings display'd, And like a shooting star he cleft the night: He charged the flames, and those that disobey'd He lash'd to duty with his sword of light.

273 The fugitive flames chastised went forth to prey On pious structures, by our fathers rear'd;

By which to heaven they did affect the way, Ere faith in churchmen without works was heard.

274 The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes, Their founder's charity in dust laid low;

And sent to God their ever-answered cries, For He protects the poor, who made them so.

275 Nor could thy fabric, Paul's, defend thee long, Though thou wert sacred to thy Maker's praise: Though made immortal by a poet's song;

And poets' songs the Theban walls could raise.

276 The daring flames peep'd in, and saw from far The awful beauties of the sacred quire: But since it was profaned by civil war, Heaven thought it fit to have it purged by fire.

277 Now down the narrow streets it swiftly came, And widely opening did on both sides prey: This benefit we sadly owe the flame, If only ruin must enlarge our way.

278 And now four days the sun had seen our woes: Four nights the moon beheld the incessant fire: It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose, And farther from the feverish north retire.

279 In th' empyrean heaven, the bless'd abode, The Thrones and the Dominions prostrate lie, Not daring to behold their angry God;

And a hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky.

280 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.

281 An hollow crystal pyramid he takes, In firmamental waters dipt above;

Of it a broad extinguisher he makes, And hoods the flames that to their quarry drove.

282 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.

283 Our King this more than natural change beholds;

With sober joy his heart and eyes abound: To the All-good his lifted hands he folds, And thanks him low on his redeemed ground.

284 As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth, A kindly thaw unlocks it with mild rain;

And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, And straight the green fields laugh with promised grain: 285 By such degrees the spreading gladness grew In every heart which fear had froze before: The standing streets with so much joy they view, That with less grief the perish'd they deplore.

286 The father of the people open'd wide His stores, and all the poor with plenty fed: Thus God's anointed God's own place supplied, And fill'd the empty with his daily bread.

287 This royal bounty brought its own reward, And in their minds so deep did print the sense, That if their ruins sadly they regard, 'Tis but with fear the sight might drive him thence.

288 But so may he live long, that town to sway, Which by his auspice they will nobler make, As he will hatch their ashes by his stay, And not their humble ruins now forsake.

289 They have not lost their loyalty by fire;

Nor is their courage or their wealth so low, That from his wars they poorly would retire, Or beg the pity of a vanquish'd foe.

290 Not with more constancy the Jews of old, By Cyrus from rewarded exile sent, Their royal city did in dust behold, Or with more vigour to rebuild it went.

291 The utmost malice of their stars is past, And two dire comets, which have scourged the town, In their own plague and fire have breathed the last, Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown.

292 Now frequent trines the happier lights among, And high-raised Jove, from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung, Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed.

293 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.

294 Already labouring 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.

295 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.

296 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.

297 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!

298 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.

299 The wealthy Tagus, and the wealthier Rhine, The glory of their towns no more shall boast;

And Seine, that would with Belgian rivers join, Shall find her lustre stain'd, and traffic lost.

300 The venturous merchant who design'd more far, And touches on our hospitable shore, Charm'd with the splendour of this northern star, Shall here unlade him, and depart no more.

301 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.

302 And while this famed 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.

303 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.

304 Thus to the Eastern wealth through storms we go, But now, the Cape once doubled, fear no more;

A constant trade-wind will securely blow, And gently lay us on the spicy shore.

* * * * * FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 36: Prince Rupert and General Monk, Duke of Albemarle.

] [Footnote 37: 'Lawson:' Sir John Lawson, rear admiral of the red, killed by a ball that wounded him in the knee.

] [Footnote 38: 'Wholly lost:' the Dutch ships on their return home, being separated by a storm, the rear and vice-admirals of the East India fleet, with four men of war, were taken by five English frigates.

Soon after, four men of war, two fire-ships, and thirty merchantmen, being driven out of their course, joined our fleet instead of their own, and were all taken.

These things happened in 1665. ] [Footnote 39: 'Munster's prelate:' the famous Bertrand Von Der Chalen, Bishop of Munster, excited by Charles, marched twenty thousand men into the province of Overyssel, under the dominion of the republic of Holland, where he committed great outrages.

] [Footnote 40: 'Two chiefs:' Prince Rupert and Monk.

] [Footnote 41: 'Berkeley:' Vice-admiral Berkeley fought till his men were all killed, and was found in the cabin dead and covered with blood.

] [Footnote 42: 'Cacus:' see Virgil in Cowper's translation, 2d vol. of this edition.

] [Footnote 43: 'Albemarle:' Monk.

] [Footnote 44: 'Flix:' old word for hare fur.

] [Footnote 45: 'Allen:' Sir Thomas Allen, admiral of the white.

'The Achates:' Sir Robert Holmes was rear-admiral of the white.

] [Footnote 46: 'Leader:' De Ruyter.

] [Footnote 47: 'Patron saint:' St James, on whose day the victory was gained.

] [Footnote 48: 'Usurper:' this seems a reference to Cromwell; if so, it contradicts Scott's statement quoted above in the 'Life.'

] [Footnote 49: 'Letted:' hindered.

] * * * * * AN ESSAY UPON SATIRE.