Classic and Contemporary Poetry
VOX CIVITATIS, by ANONYMOUS First Line: "what news, my neighbours of the riming trade?" Last Line: "I in my glorious sons, you in your mother. / licenced. R.L.E'strange" Subject(s): London Fire (1666);old Age;women; Great Fire Of 1666 | ||||||||
What News, my Neighbours of the Riming Trade? What, all by Londons Burning quite dismaid? Has our late too much Heat dry'd up your Well, And choak'd the Sisters that there us'd to dwell? Or does your so much fam'd Poetick Fire In Londons Conflagration expire? That not one idle Muse attempts a strain, To promise Her Rebuilding up again? Call the old Theban from his drowsie Tomb, And with his potent Lyre here let him come; And if he ere built Thebes (as Poets tell 's) Or by his Musick or Poetick Spells: Here let him on a worthier Subject try His skill, and Londons Walls reedifie. But see, the sullen Ghost keeps still its station, Nor yields obedience to our Invocation. Ah! no, that which our Reparation brings, Must flow from Real, not Poetick Springs. And now, methinks I see the aged Head Of London Town move from her too warm Bed; And with her parcht tongue seeming to essay Something to her much suff'ring Sons to say. 'Tis She; Her by her reverend locks I know, With her own Ashes strow'd instead of Snow. She calls to all her Children in each Land; And I her mean Interpreter here stand. What needs all this astonishment, my Sons, As if ye were transform'd to liveless stones? Viewing with stupid horror my decay, As though all hopes of Rise were ta'en away. What frights ye thus? does this such terror strike, As though ye nere had seen, nor heard the like? Have not as great Towns heretofore, or greater, Suffer'd sometimes by Fire, sometimes by Water? Are not all Bodies subject to like Fate? Do not your own of Fire participate In Burning Fevers (pray?) and what are then Dropsies, but Inundations in Men? All things their Seasons have, and Revolution; And shall have till the last great Dissolution. In all things there's a Spring, wherein its youth Sprouts, and seems to presage its future growth: A Summer that succeeds; when strength arrives To its perfection, and a fulness gives: A scorching Autumn follows; when the pride Of former strength and beauty seems to hide It wholly from our sight: and it may ly Unseen all Winter, sleeping, yet not dy. I, your sad Mother, in this rank am found; Burnt by the raging Fire almost to th' ground: My present Fall indeed stupendious is, Yet have I risen from as great as this. How comes it then that now so much time sees Me in a suppliant posture on my knees? What is the cause? ye cann't your Mother blame, VVho ne'er was to her Children a Stepdame; Oh no, 'tis to the Universe well known, What Glories I have to my Offsprings won. Here's then the case; I still preserve my state: But ah! I fear my Sons degenerate! If so, my tears should from my eyes be skrew'd, Less for my Fall, than their Ingratitude. I that could once with Laureate Brows have sung Cesars and Princes from my intrals sprung: Have nothing left, my griefs now to decline, But the remembrance that they once were mine. Where are my Philpots, Walworths, Greshams, Lambs, Suttons and Ramseys, with the rest, whose Names Claim'd a bright Rubrick in my Calendar; Glorious for Acts of Virtue near and far? 'Tis sure, they could not die; their Names still live, And their immortal Memories survive The Ruines of their own all-praised Deeds. Oh for a Race now that might them succeed! And all like them, by happy Transmigration; Then might I hope my speedy Restauration. Rouse up, my Sons, methinks my Prayer's heard, And you already to my help prepar'd; Warm'd by the self same genuine heat and force, Which once did actuate your Ancestors. Some of our Heroes are already met, And to this end in Consultation set: Lay to your helping hands; so may you see Your selves once more to Fame advanc'd with Me: So may we mutually rejoice each other, I in my Glorious Sons, you in your Mother. Licenced. R.L'Estrange. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON THE LATE LAMENTABLE ACCIDENT OF FIRE ... by JOHN ALLISON (1645-1683) LONDON SECOND TEARS by JOHN CROUCH LONDONS NONSUCH; OR, THE GLORY OF THE ROYAL EXCHANGE by HENRY DUKE GREAT BRITTAINS BEAUTY; OR, LONDON'S DELIGHT by GEORGE ELIOTT LONDONS RESURRECTION by SIMON FORD THE CONFLAGRATION OF LONDON, POETICAL DELINEATED by SIMON FORD ENGLAND'S PASSING BELL by THOMAS GILBERT (1613-1694) THE DREADFUL BURNING OF LONDON by JOSEPH GUILLIM TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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