Northampton in Flames:
OR,
A POEM on the Dreadful FIRE
That Happened there on Monday the 20th. Septemb. 1675.
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COnfused Cryes fill all the Peoples Ears,
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And disagreeing Bells bespeak their Fears;
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Faint glimmering lights on every wall appear,
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And Fire is all they now can see or hear.
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Some from their Shops, more from their Tables haste,
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To meet the Flames, that came themselves too fast:
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A joynt-concern engaged all the Town,
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Tis Fire alone makes every house our own.
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Where-ere they go, they new Surprises meet,
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And Grief alones the same in every Street.
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To loud complaints thamazed people fall,
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And Ruind! Ruind! Still did close them all.
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A thousand hands Strait fight thinraged foe,
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Who thus opposd dos but the fiercer grow;
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As when strong Winds th approaching Seas invade
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A mighty Billow of a Wave is made;
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So all the force they usd to stop the Fire,
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Did not Repell, but onely raise it Higher.
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Some from the Walls the heated Rafters tore,
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With the same Hands that set them Up before;
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And at the Conquerours feet their houses lay,
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The haughty Flames scorn the ignoble prey:
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And Lyon-like the prostrate Spoils, they mist,
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To conquer faster those that did resist:
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The infant-Flames each minute stronger grew,
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Whilst on the wings of a strong Wind they Flew;
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Nere did Bistonian Courser swiftlier bear,
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Pamperd in Peace the mighty God of War,
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Whilst over the Strymonian banks he scuds,
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And his Strong wind drives on the loytering Floods.
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But Zephyr could not long sustain the freight,
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But breathless lies under th unequal weight;
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The Flames no more now need the nourishing wind,
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But seem to leave those slower Blasts behind:
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And thus to their full strength and vigour grown,
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Singly defy all the Remaining Town.
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The full-fletcht Flames as swift as Joves fires Fly,
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Which in an instant lighten all the Sky:
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Houses of Entertainment and of Trade,
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Are all together in one Ruine laid;
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Shops, Stables, Barnes, all Buildings fall so fast,
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You could not say, which was devoured last:
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Not Polyphemus favours shewn.
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The *Silver-swan more sweetly sung of late,
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Too sad presage of her approaching fate;
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In deepest streams she wisht to hide her head,
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And curst the time She left her Watry bed:
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For now amidst the thickest Flames she fries,
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And there for want of her own Element dies.
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The *Lyon next, when nothing else could fright,
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Prepares himself for the unequal fight;
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Unknowing how to yield, he scorns the Fires,
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And in a generous Sullen rage expires.
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The *Hind, she heard, and knew her danger near,
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Which came so fast, she had no time to fear.
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The *Dog was nere afraid of her till now,
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Nor all so weak an Enemy could do,
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But now he finds her breath is hotter far,
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Then all thinveterate oth fiery Star.
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And here, my Muse, the spacious *Hill survay,
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Where scarcely now th Affrighted People stay.
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Some on their backs their aged Parents bear,
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And shew their pietys greater than their fear:
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In the same hast AEnas snatcht his Sire
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And scarcely savd him from th pursuing fire.
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With wearied Steps a fearfull Mother strays,
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She trembles as she goes, looks backs, and Stays;
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Within her armes her youngest pledge she bore,
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And feard much for her self, for that much more:
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The Child looks on her with his watry Eyes,
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And all those frights he could not speak he Cryes.
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My Child (sayd she) my only child I fear,
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For none of all thy brethren else appear;
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Thy Father too-----But here she Silent grew,
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And durst not speak, but feard the Worst was true.
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They Stayd, and saw, the tottering Chimni[e]s fall,
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And heard the Rents of each divided Wall:
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The great Beames burst and throw the sparks on high,
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And Fire rains down from the discoloured Sky;
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It fell so thick, not faster Hailestones pour,
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Which fall with violent force from an impetious Shower:
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These Cinders how they scapd, you could not tell,
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Unless their tears did quench them, as they fell.
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The Richest Goods now Flame ore all the Hill,
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With Aromaticks which dried Channels fill:
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Th Arabian* Bird the scattered Spices takes,
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And of them all a Funeral Pile she makes;
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May she rise new from this her Flaming Nest,
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And th happy Emblem prove of all the rest.
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What ails my Muse to look so pale,
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All on a suddain how her spirits faile;
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With an uncertain step she now does go,
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And loose Pindariques only flow.
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See! see the Sacred * Fires rise,
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See how they mount and shew
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Brighter far than those below.
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See how they mount an unmixt Sacrifice!
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The Heavens asunder fall,
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They open, and receive it all.
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The Saints from whom it took its Name,
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Run and catch the Hallowed Flame,
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Which in safe Treasuries they lay,
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For they in Heavens Records did find a day;
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When it again should fill another Quire,
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And not consuming prove, but Purifying Fire.
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My Muse she fainted, and intrancd she lay,
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Around her Head the sporting Visions play:
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When loe a Book a mighty Book she saw,
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It was the Volume of unerring Fate,
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The leaves of hardest Minerals were made;
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So hard, that God alone the Lines could draw,
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None else could write, and none obliterate:
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The Book lay open, and all times appear,
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And things not done, as plain as if they were;
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In dreadful Characters which fears create,
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And letters of a vast and fearful Size;
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She reads Northamptons too unhappy State,
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And all the Terrours of that Flaming Sacrifice:
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She reads the Legends of the dismal place,
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Of Fires, and their violent Rage,
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When suddain smiles adornd her alterd face,
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To find such happy Annalls for another Age.
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She reads, but as she read, excess of Joy,
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Her wandring Spirits did recall;
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Her hopes and fears by turns themselves destroy,
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She hopes all True, yet fears the Truth of all.
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And is it True said she,
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The Fates so soon shall raise that happy day,
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When all these Sister-Streets allied shall be,
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In stately order Uniformly gay.
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And shall the Sacred Roof so glorious grow,
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And there those polisht Columns stand,
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In which each golden Cherub sees his face,
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Doubly adorning all the Sacred place;
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And shall all this Treasure flow
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From Gracious Canterburies Pious hand!
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Ingrateful Muse said I, dost thou despair?
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Thou least of all shouldst doubt his Pious care:
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Did he not make that little that thou art?
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Yet that far more than thy desert:
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Did he not take thee from an homely Cell,
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To place thee where the Muses dwell?
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First Taught thee how, then gave thee where to Live,
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Tis not His fault but Thine, thy Lawrells do not Thrive,
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The careful *Genius of the place arose,
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Great in his Courage, great in Grief he shews;
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His mighty Courage dard the Rebel-fire,
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Though Grief did make him sigh, and blow it higher.
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Th unbounded Flames contract a seeming awe,
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And their unlimited Rage submits to Law;
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For generous heat did his Warm breast inspire,
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And his hot Zeal burnt out that colder fire.
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Obedient flames now creep along the street,
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An easy Conquest unto all they meet;
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To Cellars their last refuge now they fly,
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And there neglected of themselves they dy.
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But though the Town be Dust, its living Fame
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Shall never Dy in Loyal Comptons Name.
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