Six Centuries of English Poetry Part 27

20. =Furies.= The Eumenides, or avengers of evil. They are variously represented by the poets. aeschylus describes them as having black bodies, hair composed of twining snakes, and eyes dripping with blood.

21. =Grecian ghosts.= The spirits of the Greek warriors in Alexander's army who had been slain by the Persians.

22. =crew.= This word was formerly used to designate any a.s.sociated mult.i.tude or a.s.semblage of persons. It is now restricted to a ship's company, except when occasionally used in a bad sense. From A.-S.

_cread_ or _cruth_, a crowd.

23. =Thais led the way, etc.= See note 19, above. Neither Thais nor Helen actually fired any city. What the poet means to say is that, as Helen was the cause of the destruction of Troy, so Thais instigated the burning of Persepolis.

24. =organs.= The word _organ_ originally denoted but a single pipe, and hence the older English writers, when referring to the complete instrument, generally used the word in the plural number. "Father Schmidt and other famous organ-builders flourished in the latter part of the seventeenth century. The organ in Temple Church, London, was built by Schmidt in Charles II.'s time."

25. =vocal frame.= The organ--the grand instrument of church music--so perfect that it may literally be said to speak. See introductory note to Pope's "Ode on St. Cecilia's Day," page 153.

26. St. Cecilia, according to the story in the "Golden Legend," was under the immediate protection of an angel. But it was not her sweet playing, but her spotless purity, that brought the angel to earth, not to listen, but to be "a heavenly guard."

Compare these last four lines with those at the close of Pope's Ode.

Dr. Warton says of "Alexander's Feast": "If Dryden had never written anything but this ode, his name would have been immortal, as would that of Gray, if he had never written anything but his 'Bard.' It is difficult to find new terms to express our admiration of the variety, richness, and melody of its numbers; the force, beauty, and distinctness of its images; the succession of so many different pa.s.sions and feelings; and the matchless perspicuity of its diction. No particle of it can be wished away, but the epigrammatic turn of the four concluding lines."

Hallam says: "This ode has a few lines mingled with a far greater number ill conceived and ill expressed; the whole composition has that spirit which Dryden hardly ever wanted, but it is too faulty for high praise.

It used to pa.s.s for the best work of Dryden and the best ode in the language. But few lines are highly poetical, and some sink to the level of a common drinking song. It has the defects as well as the merits of that poetry which is written for musical accompaniment."

THE FIRE OF LONDON.

[FROM "ANNUS MIRABILIS."]

Such was the rise of this prodigious fire,{1} Which, in mean buildings first obscurely bred, From thence did soon to open streets aspire, And straight to palaces and temples spread.

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.

In this deep quiet, from what source unknown,{2} 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.

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.

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,

So scapes the insulting fire his narrow jail, And makes small outlets into open air; There the fierce winds his tender force a.s.sail, And beat him downward to his first repair.

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.

And now, no longer letted{3} of his prey, He leaps up at it with enraged desire, O'erlooks the neighbors with a wide survey, And nods at every house his threatening fire.

The ghosts of traitors from the Bridge{4} descend, With bold fanatic spectres to rejoice; About the fire into a dance they bend, And sing their sabbath notes with feeble voice.

Our guardian angel saw them where they sate, Above the palace of our slumbering King; He sighed, abandoning his charge to Fate, And drooping oft look'd back upon the wing.

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.

The next to danger, hot pursued by fate, Half-clothed, half-naked, hastily retire; And frighted mothers strike their b.r.e.a.s.t.s too late For helpless infants left amidst the fire.

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 justle as they meet.

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.{5}

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.

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.

A key{6} of fire ran all along the sh.o.r.e, And lighten'd all the river with a blaze; The waken'd tides began again to roar, And wondering fish in shining waters gaze.

Old Father Thames rais'd up his reverend head, But fear'd the fate of Simois{7} would return; Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed, And shrank his waters back into his urn.

The fire meantime walks in a broader gross;{8} 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.

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.

To every n.o.bler 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.

One mighty squadron, with a sidewind sped, Through narrow lanes his c.u.mber'd fire does haste, By powerful charms of gold and silver led The Lombard bankers and the Change to waste.

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.

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.

NOTES.

This selection from Dryden's long and very tedious poem, "Annus Mirabilis, the year of Wonders, 1666," is given here as a specimen of that kind of mechanical versification so popular in the latter half of the seventeenth century. "That part of my poem which describes the Fire," says Dryden, "I owe first to the piety and fatherly affection of our monarch to his suffering subjects; and, in the second place, to the courage, loyalty, and magnanimity of the city; both of which were so conspicuous that I have wanted words to celebrate them as they deserve.

And I have chosen to write my poem in quatrains or stanzas of four in alternate rhyme, because I have ever judged them more n.o.ble, and of greater dignity, both for the sound and number, than any other verse in use amongst us." This opinion, however, was certainly not long maintained by the poet, for he never afterward practised that form of versification which he has here praised.

1. =this prodigious fire.= A half sheet published immediately after the Great Fire contains this account of the catastrophe which Dryden describes in his verses:

"On Sunday, the second of September, this present year 1666, about one o'clock in the morning, there happened a sad and deplorable fire in _Pudding-lane_ near _New Fish-street_; which, falling out in a part of the city so close built with wooden houses . . . in a short time became too big to be mastered by any engines or working near it. . . . It continued all Monday and Tuesday with such impetuosity, that it consumed houses and churches all the way to _St. Dunstan's Church_, in _Fleet-street_; at which time, by the favour of G.o.d, the wind slackened; and that night, by the vigilancy, industry, and indefatigable pains of his Majesty and his Royal Highness, calling upon all people, and encouraging them by their personal a.s.sistances, a stop was put to the fire in Fleet-street, etc. But on Wednesday night it suddenly broke out afresh in the _Inner Temple_. His Royal Highness in person fortunately watching there that night, by his care, diligence, great labour, and seasonable commands for the blowing up, with gunpowder, some of the said buildings, it was most happily before day extinguished."

2. =source unknown.= "It was ascribed by the rage of the people either to the Republicans or the Catholics, especially the latter. An inscription on the monument, intended to perpetuate this groundless suspicion, was erased by James II., but restored at the Revolution."--_Warton._

3. =letted.= Hindered. This use of the word _let_ is now obsolete, except in the phrase, "Without let or hindrance." It was frequently employed by the older writers.

"What lets but one may enter?"--_Shakespeare._