Poems or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson |
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Upon the great Fire at St. Catharines, on Whitsunday, 1672.
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Upon the great Fire at St. Catharines, on Whitsunday, 1672.
What our Whitsunday was, St. Catharin may
Too sadly say, was her Ashwednesday.
Or, which indeed may be too truly se'd,
What our Whitsunday was, ah! 'twas her Red.
Imperious Element! 'cause thy hand was in,
Couldst not conclude there where thou didst begin.
One house (fierce Fire) had been too large a share,
Must those that struck thee not have neighbors fare?
Could nothing intercept thy running on,
Must every house have an Ucaligon?
Couldst thou devour poor Widows houses too,
And not have so much as pretence to shew?
VVouldst thou with Phaeton once more aspire
To heaven, and set the world again on Fire?
Or didst design the Hamlets to undo,
To make the Suburbs, like the City, new?
Too sadly say, was her Ashwednesday.
Or, which indeed may be too truly se'd,
What our Whitsunday was, ah! 'twas her Red.
Imperious Element! 'cause thy hand was in,
Couldst not conclude there where thou didst begin.
One house (fierce Fire) had been too large a share,
Must those that struck thee not have neighbors fare?
Could nothing intercept thy running on,
Must every house have an Ucaligon?
Couldst thou devour poor Widows houses too,
And not have so much as pretence to shew?
VVouldst thou with Phaeton once more aspire
To heaven, and set the world again on Fire?
Or didst design the Hamlets to undo,
To make the Suburbs, like the City, new?
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O that since Floods of tears could not suffice,
Niles Catarracts had pist out both thine eyes!
Or he that Tagus up a Mountain drew,
Had drawn the Thames up here, and drown'd thee too.
That hadst no pity left, but to destroy
So many houses at a Tide of Joy.
Ah cruel Tyrant, Fire! who can express
The aking hearts of the poor harbourless!
In a condition worse than Snails now grown,
For they have houses, these alas! have none.
Whose glittering Canopy o're their sad heads
Are sky, and stars, and the cold earth their beds.
Such as but yesterday could Thousands boast,
Have in a moment, all their substance lost.
And now expos'd to wind and weather lye,
Examples of this VVorlds inconstancy:
Whilst they poor wretches are constrain'd to come
Abroad these holy days, for want of home.
Niles Catarracts had pist out both thine eyes!
Or he that Tagus up a Mountain drew,
Had drawn the Thames up here, and drown'd thee too.
That hadst no pity left, but to destroy
So many houses at a Tide of Joy.
Ah cruel Tyrant, Fire! who can express
The aking hearts of the poor harbourless!
In a condition worse than Snails now grown,
For they have houses, these alas! have none.
Whose glittering Canopy o're their sad heads
Are sky, and stars, and the cold earth their beds.
Such as but yesterday could Thousands boast,
Have in a moment, all their substance lost.
And now expos'd to wind and weather lye,
Examples of this VVorlds inconstancy:
Whilst they poor wretches are constrain'd to come
Abroad these holy days, for want of home.
Proud spark! did ever Deity do so?
To burn thy Altars, and thy Temples too?
Henceforth I'le warm with wine, and exercise,
Let Salamanders to the Sacrifice.
Colds not, at least the Colliars Ships reprieve,
But for Newcastle (fire) thou couldst not live.
VVas ever Tyrant yet so senseless seen,
Like thee, to blow up his own Megazin?
Famish for want of Fewel, and expire
In thine own Rubish, as neglected Fire.
Yet pitty I thy Pitchy servants ruine,
Whose Ribs contribute to their own undoing.
To burn thy Altars, and thy Temples too?
Henceforth I'le warm with wine, and exercise,
Let Salamanders to the Sacrifice.
Colds not, at least the Colliars Ships reprieve,
But for Newcastle (fire) thou couldst not live.
VVas ever Tyrant yet so senseless seen,
Like thee, to blow up his own Megazin?
Famish for want of Fewel, and expire
In thine own Rubish, as neglected Fire.
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Whose Ribs contribute to their own undoing.
Bold fire! wou'd we had let thee still alone,
Lockt in the silent bosome of a storme.
And not have made our selves so overwise.
To find what heaven had hidden from our eyes.
Must we still Phænix like from Ashes grow?
See what our sins, and senseless Servants do!
Well, well, wild Fire, remember for this bout,
When I lock in my doors, I'le put thee out.
Lockt in the silent bosome of a storme.
And not have made our selves so overwise.
To find what heaven had hidden from our eyes.
Must we still Phænix like from Ashes grow?
See what our sins, and senseless Servants do!
Well, well, wild Fire, remember for this bout,
When I lock in my doors, I'le put thee out.
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