227 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 jostle as they meet.

 228 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.

 229 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.

 230 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.

 231 A quay of fire ran all along the shore,
       And lighten’d all the river with a blaze: 
     The waken’d tides began again to roar,
       And wondering fish in shining waters gaze.

 232 Old father Thames raised up his reverend head,
       But fear’d the fate of Simois would return: 
     Deep in his ooze he sought his sedgy bed,
       And shrunk his waters back into his urn.

 233 The fire, meantime, walks in a broader gross;
       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.

 234 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.

 235 To every nobler 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.

 236 One mighty squadron with a side-wind sped,
       Through narrow lanes his cumber’d fire does haste,
     By powerful charms of gold and silver led,
       The Lombard bankers and the ’Change to waste.

 237 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.

 238 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.

 239 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.

 240 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.