Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A POEM ON THE BURNING OF LONDON, by ANONYMOUS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A POEM ON THE BURNING OF LONDON, by                    
First Line: We owne no muses now; what now inspires
Last Line: "then shall it's harmony our thebes advance, / and make rude stones into a city dance"
Subject(s): London Fire (1666); Great Fire Of 1666


We owne no Muses now; what now inspires
Is a more grosse, then are Poetick fires.
Who studies Elegance when he proclames
The near approaches of devouring Flames?
If then officious hast our Verses spoyle
This Subject, know, wants Water more then Oyle.
Is't still unknown from whence our ruine came,
Whether from Hell, France, Rome, or Amsterdam?
Must th' Salique Law in England too prevail?
Must not Great Cities be Emperiall
'Cause Mothers call'd? Or doth this lightning from
The Roman Altar, or darke Lanthornes come?
Or from th' Infernall Netherlands is this?
Or by reflected rayes from Brandaris?
Thus is our Phoenix in her spices burn'd,
And Troy-Novant is into Ashes turn'd.
Must eminence of safety still despaire?
Must Fire as well as Smoake pursue the faire?
Honour's now ominous; and Purple dye
Soon'st catches Flames: Badges of Soveraignty
Doe not protect us, but our fall conspire,
Our very Faces first receive the fire.
What once preserv'd the Israelitish band,
Even Fiery Pillars now destroy our Land.
Our London Frigatts burnt so oft of late,
Doe seem to threaten Shipwrack to our State.
Our Isle before obscure, now's famous grown
By Flames, from Ashes now call'd Albion;
Both Fire and Sword cause us still to remember,
Th' one the Second, th' other th' Third day of September[.]
This Protean Fire in power prevailing so,
Now in it's cruelty doth wanton grow.
First seems Religious, and doth put on
The Face of Zeale, and hot Devotion,
And Whips the Buyers and the Sellers out
Of the prophaned Temples, seeks about
For hidden Wares; and then doth Sacrifice
Their vainely Sanctuary'd Merchandise.
And with such Swords at th' Churches dores doth stand,
As once did th' Gate of Paradise command.
Then, Zelot-like, destroys promiscuously
What it pretended first to purifie:
Here Images of Saints, and Prophets Tombes
In Flames doe suffer second Martyrdomes.
The buried Bodies from their silent Urnes
Begin to rise, thinking their wish'd returnes
From th' Grave are now at hand, whilst through the world
Such universall Flames as these are hurld.
Saint Paul is now again ascended on
The Wings of Fire, to th' Heavens third Region;
Yet's Altar, and what thereto appertaines,
A sacred Portion to his Sonns remaines.
Thus at his Fiery Ascention is it said,
Elijah's Mantle on Elisha stayd:
Saint Peter's shade that once did Fevers Cure,
It selfe's enough to cause a Calenture.
Th' Baptist againe into his desert's gonn,
What Waters then can we rely upon?
We onely now in too just feares doe stand,
Lest Floods of Barbarisme ore-flow our Land.
Since Pauls Church-yard had th' Vaticans sad doome,
Learning's now shrivell'd to a little roome;
Our Bays are wither'd, and now onely shall
Serve to attend upon this Funerall.
His Buildings fall, yet Gresham stands entire,
As once that sacred Bush in midst of Fire:
Those Regall Statues, struck with such a ray,
Become like Memnons, vocall; seem to say
Thus to the Fire, Let not your rage come nigh
This Royall Place, affront not Majesty:
But all in vaine, the Flames do still draw nigher,
Kings may command the Earth, but Gods the Fire,
Which now triumphantly as the Wind guides,
In Fiery Chariots through the City rides;
Breaks ope the Prison Dores, sets Captives free,
In greater honour of it's Jubilee.
Then to the Skyes it's Victory Proclames,
In Monumentall Pyramids of Flames.
The Cellars too are burnt, this Stygian Flame
Goes downwards too, as thither whence it came.
Here lyes that City far too big to have,
Or Mausoleum, or an Epitaph,
Since nothing but it's ruines can present,
For so much greatnesse, a fit Monument.
Yet part remains, if therefore we inquire
How Flames so strong, so strangely should expire,
We may observe, their power did still decay,
Since th' Temple they so rudely did assay.
Thus Pompey lesse successful still did grow,
Since th' Inner Temple he prophaned so.
Let others feare bad Omens, yet we may
From this Red Evening hope thy clearer day:
Now may we hope th' appeased Deities,
Since Fire devours th' accepted Sacrifice.
Thus th' amorous God descended from above
In Golden Showres disslov'd in Flames of Love:
Wee'le hope to see those days, when Peace againe
Shall Ride Triumphantly in CHARLES his Waine;
Then shall it's Harmony our Thebes advance,
And make rude Stones into a City Dance.





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