Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A POEM, BEING AN ESSAY ON THE RUINS IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, by JAMES WRIGHT (1643-1713)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A POEM, BEING AN ESSAY ON THE RUINS IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL, by                    
First Line: Was it a vain curiosity or no?
Last Line: A beauty grow out of deformity?
Subject(s): London Fire (1666); St. Paul's Cathedral, London; Great Fire Of 1666


1.

Was it a vain Curiosity or no?
Or some kind Pitty to the Sacred Place,
Bid me, to view the Deform'd Carkass go,
Of which so oft I've seen the Beautious face?

2.

I know not what it was: but surely I
Should, Reverend Mother, much unnatural be
Not to call in and visit, going by,
Though thou want'st Speech and Power to welcom me.

3.

Want Speech? Ah no! were Donne and Collet here,
And all those Oratours that enrich thy Story,
They could not half so lively make appear
Death, Change, and Emptiness of Mundane Glory.

4.

Loe! they're all here whom I suppos'd. How must
This object penetrate, where they did teach
Those Doctrines, now lye blended in their Dust;
And even these Stones assume their place and Preach?

5.

The parts so many in this Sermon are,
As there are Places in this ruin'd Pile.
First see; where that wild Dunghill lyes, just there
Beauty and order sate enthron'd, ere while.

6.

Beauty, what art thou, posting thus away?
If Pauls that stood this Islands fame and Grace
Above ten Centurys fell in one Day;
Ah! canst thou last one Moment in a face?

7.

See in that place Confusions thick sown field
With Limbs of Tombs: A Ladys arm lyes there
Of Aliblaster, in a Marble Shield,
'Twixt half a Knight, and a Devote at Prayer.

8.

A Casual Heap of divers sorts of Stone,
In several Forms, all met from several ways,
As if their Meeting were design'd alone
A Monument to Discord for to raise.

9.

Here's an imperfect Limb, and there lyes more:
Thus, (Poets sing) when the Great Floud was gone,
Lookt Pyrrha's Stones which did mankind restore,
Their humain shape scarce being half put on.

10.

What Lead is that so bruis'd and smeard with filth,
Lyes on the Brink of a new open'd Grave,
Like a fresh Furrow turn'd up by the Tilth,
Or Wrack new cast ashore by th' angry Wave?

11.

See, Letters too; that say, Bacon lyes here
First Chancelour of that name, who heretofore
Kept that disquiet Office twenty year:
But cannot keep the peaceful Grave five Score.

12.

This Lead in Pauls might well a wonder show;
But that Humility is Ruin-proof:
Safe and intire this lay i'th' floor below,
Whilst Flames did humble that above the Roof.

13.

Ha! what is that peeps through yon Grave and Shroud
With such a frighted and a frightfull Look?
Gastly as Comets from behind a Cloud,
When they declare what's writ in fates black Book.

14.

Gallants, what think you, will this Fashion do?
A Wig may well supply his loss of hair:
His Nose is gone, that may be wanting too:
But here's no Eyes, ah! that is past repair.

15.

Now would you have an Object to invade
All that is Man within you, by the Sight;
See there Death's Presence Chamber quite display'd:
Ha! this doth both the Eye and Nose affright.

16.

Yet mind how that bold Sexton there doth tread
Familiarly upon the Trunk half Clay,
And crams to it the Bones of several Dead:
Sure he's more dead and Senseless then are they.

17.

Look here, you Wantons; for like this must be
Your last soft Bed, and spacious Room:
Such Garb, such Mirth, and such Gay Company,
And such an odouriferous perfume.

18.

Where's the rich Cenotaph, and richer Shrine?
That seem'd these Bones to have Eternized,
Which Princes made Majestick, Saints divine:
All sunck, and perisht all, as are their Dead.

19.

Memorials need their Epitaphs: we might
(Could we as truly point the where and whom)
With some Coal of this ruin'd Fabrick, write
Here lyes within this place that great Man's Tomb.

20.

False Guardians! you but ill discharge your Trust,
Thus from your silent Wards to fall away;
Mingling your Rubbish with their finer Dust:
Whilst of your Dead you nothing shew or say.

21.

Scarcely their Names remain. Yet one of these
Slept in his Grave two hundred years, intire.
Nor wonder: He who owns this house can please
To guard his Saints both from the Earth and fire.

22.

Thou Reverend Man, if I may'nt call thee more
Then such, when to this perfect shape of thine
Flames knew their Distance, and worms seem'd t'adore,
Thou wast thine own best Epitaph, and Shrine.

23.

But how could Tombs preserve their Dead, so small?
When Pauls, nor them, nor her own self could save:
The greater Monument did on the lesser fall;
And what was once their Glory, is their Grave.

24.

This Ponderous Fall in its sad Passage hath
Open'd a place that was both Roof and flore:
A Reverend Vault sacred to holy Faith
Which ne're was violated thus before.

25.

Now the fam'd Towr's ta'ne down, and with good cause
Though a fair Landmark 'twas: yet for the Head
Still to survive, is against Natures Laws,
When all the Body and its Limbs are dead.

26.

See yet another Ruin; here were laid
Choice Authors, by the Servants of the Muses:
And here to Sacrilegious flames betray'd:
To spare or Wit or Temples fire refuses.

27.

These half burnt Papers lying here, needs must
Be for the Libriary of the Dead mistook:
And for a Schollar faln himself to Dust
Ashes of paper is a proper Book.

28.

Couldst thou not, Pauls, in all thy Vaults of Stone,
Preserve these Papers from the tyrant flame?
When thou by Paper, and by it alone,
Art still preserv'd to triumph o're the same.

29.

Were't not for Books where had thy Memory been?
But that thou art, in Dugdale's learned Story
And beautious Illustrations, to be seen,
Thy Name had been as lost as is thy Glory.

30.

Brave Norroy, as thou to this Fabricks name
A living Monument hast rais'd, so she
Shall prove (in spite of a prevailing flame)
An everlasting Monument to thee.

L'ENVOY

Once Beautious, and still Reverend Pile,
Mayst thou rise up the Glory of this Ile,
Much more Majestick than thou wast er'e while.

Mayst thou a Resurrection have
Bright as thy Saints, from this thy mournful Grave:
May a Quires Beauty shine even in thy Nave.

Mayst thou be built of such a lasting Frame,
Such Strength shall laugh at any future flame,
And such a Majesty shall awe the same.

But where shall then this Generation be?
And who shall live that Miracle to see,
A Beauty grow out of Deformity?





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