On fair Augusta's towers and trees Flitted the silent midnight breeze, Curling the foliage as it past, Which from the moon-tipp'd plumage cast A spangled light like dancing spray. Then reassumed its still array: Whenas night's lamp unclouded hung, And down its full effulgence flung, It shed such soft and balmy power, That cot and castle, hall and bower, And spire and dome, and turret height, Appear'd to slumber in the light. From Henry's chapel, Rufus' hall, To Savoy, Temple, and St. Paul, From Knightsbridge, Pancras, Camden Town, To Redriff, Shadwell, Horsleydown, No voice was heard, no eye unclosed, But all in deepest sleep reposed. They might have thought, who gazed around Amid a silence so profound, It made the senses thrill, That 'twas no place inhabited, But some vast city of the dead, was so hush'd and still. The Burning. As Chaos which, by heavenly doom, Had slept in everlasting gloom, Started with terror and surprise, When light first flash'd upon her eyes; So London's sons in night-cap woke, In bed-gown woke her dames, For shouts were heard 'mid fire and smoke, And twice ten hundred voices spoke, "The Playhouse is in flames." And lo! where Catherine Street extends, A fiery tale its lustre lends To every window-pane; Blushes each spout in Martlet Court, And Barbican, moth-eaten fort, And Govent Garden kennels sport, A bright ensanguin'd drain; Meux's new brewhouse shows the light, Rowland Hill's chapel, and the height Where patent shot they sell: The Tennis Court, so fair and tall, Partakes the ray, with Surgeons' Hall, The ticket porter's house of call, Old Bedlam, close by London Wall, Wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal, And Richardson's Hotel. Nor these alone, but far and wide Across the Thames's gleaming tide, To distant fields the blaze was borne, And daisy white and hoary thorn In borrow'd lustre seem'd to sham The rose or red sweet Wil-li-am. To those who on the hills around Beheld the flames from Drury's mound, As from a lofty altar rise; It seem'd that nations did conspire, To offer to the god of fire Some vast stupendous sacrifice! The summon'd firemen woke at call, And hied them to their stations all. Starting from short and broken snooze, Each sought his pond'rous hobnail'd shoes, But first his worsted hosen plied, Plush breeches next in crimson dyed, His nether bulk embraced; Then jacket thick of red or blue, Whose massy shoulder gave to view The badge of each respective crew, In tin or copper traced. The engines thunder'd thro' the street, Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete, And torches glared, and clattering feet Along the pavement paced.