Old expert Allen, loyal all along,

Fam❜d 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 Sprag, as bountiful as brave,
Whom his high courage to command had brought:
Harman, who did the twice-fir'd Harry save,
And in his burning ship undaunted fought.

Young Hollis on a Muse by Mars begot,

Born, Cæsar 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 bom.

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 fy

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 hop'd 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 heav'd 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 th' officious flood;
And with his trident shov'd 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 judg'd for shot of every size,

The linstocs 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 ty'd, And forc'd 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, Rouze 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 Cæsar'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 of the Belgian fleet,
Thy monument inscrib'd 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 Provok'd the tardy English close to fight; Now draw their beaten vessels close to shore,

As larks lie dar'd 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 of injur'd 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 t' 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.

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 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:

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 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 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 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; 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 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,

Aud meets, instead of milk, a falling tear.

No thought can ease them but their sovereign's care, Whose praise th' afflicted as their comfort sing: Ev'n those, whom want might drive to just despair, Think life a blessing under such a king.

Meantime 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 supply'd 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 unweary'd 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 step'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; [street, When spotted Deaths ran arm'd through every With poison'd darts which not the good could shun, The speedy could outfly, 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 again,
Thy searching judgments to their dwellings trace.

"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 recal.

"Thy threatenings, Lord, as thine thou may'st reBut if immutable and fix'd they stand, [voke: Continue still thyself to give the stroke,

And let not foreign foes oppress thy land."

Th' Eternal heard, and from the heavenly quire Chose out the cherub with the flaming sword; And bade him swiftly drive th' approaching Fire From where our naval magazines were stor❜d.

The blessed minister his wings display'd,

And like a shooting star he cleft the night: He charg'd the flames, and those that disobey'd He lash'd to duty with his sword of light.

The fugitive Flames, chastis'd, 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.

The wanting orphans saw, with watery eyes,
Their founders' charity in dust laid low;
And sent to God their ever-answer'd cries,
For he protects the poor, who made them so.

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.

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

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.

And now four days the Sun had seen our woes: Four nights the Moon beheld th' incessant fire: It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose,

And further from the feverish North retire.

In th' empyrean Heaven, the bless'd abode, The thrones and the dominions prostrate lie, Not daring to behold their angry God;

And an hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky.

At length th' 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.

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.

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.

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.

As when sharp frosts had long constrain'd the earth,
A kindly thaw unlocks it with cold rain;
And first the tender blade peeps up to birth, [grain:
And straight the green fields laugh with promis'd

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.

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 supply'd, And fill'd the empty with his daily bread,

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,

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.

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.

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.

The utmost malice of the stars is past,

And two dire comets, which have scourg'd the town, In their own plague and fire have breath'd the last, Or dimly in their sinking sockets frown.

Now frequent trines the happier lights among,

And high-rais'd Jove from his dark prison freed, Those weights took off that on his planet hung, Will gloriously the new-laid work succeed,

Methinks already from this chymic flame,
I see a city of more precious mold:
Rich as the town which gives the Indies name,
With silver pav'd, and all divine with gold.