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John Dryden - Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666
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168 
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.

169 
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.

170 
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.

171 
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.

172 
Old expert Allen, 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.

173
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.

174 
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.

175 
Young Hollis, on a Muse by Mars begot,
Born, Caesar-like, to write and act great deeds:
Impatient to revenge his fatal shot,
His right hand doubly to his left succeeds.

176 
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.

177 
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.

178 
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.

179 
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.

180 
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.

181 
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.

182 
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.

183 
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.

184 
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.

185 
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.

186 
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.

187 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.

188 
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!

189 
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.

190 
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.

191  
Nor long the Belgians could that fleet sustain,
Which did two generals` fates, and Caesar`s bear:
Each several ship a victory did gain,
As Rupert or as Albemarle were there.

192 
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.

193 
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.

194 
O famous leader 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.

195 
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.

196 
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.

197 
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 injured Spain.

198 
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.

199 
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.

200 
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.

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 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 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.

227Their 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 amazed 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.
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