THE LAST FIRE.
A VISION OF STEAM.
[As I sat, a few nights ago, reading in the newspapers many alarming calculations concerning the consumption of fuel by the multiplication of steam-engines, I fell into a dose, when the following awful and prophetic vision presented itself to my eyes. Immediately on waking, it fell naturally, as it were, into verse; and I think the subject too important to be withheld from public consideration.]
I slept; and, in a vision, to my eyes
Nature's last tragedy appeared to rise.
Man's climbing mind had subtilised each art,
Sublimed the whole, and perfected each part.
Laws, arts, and arms, had undergone a change,
Not less magnificent because most strange.
Steam, mighty steam! had superseded all--
Made horses bankrupts, and made bread to fall.
Steam-boats, steam-guns, steam-kitchens, and steam-coaches,
To this perfection made the first approaches:
But this was nothing to the wondrous steaming
The future showed me as I lay a-dreaming.
Vain in description to waste precious paper--
Suffice it, Europe was one cloud of vapour!
But, ah! alas! that vapour e'er should feel
The rotatory roll of Fortune's wheel!
Fuel grew dear! French forests fell like grass;
Tynemouth, Wall-end, and Kennell, cried, "Alas!"
Nor even could the Indian savage roam
Through ancient woods, his dim primeval home.
Long every shrub, and bush, and branch, and tree,
Had heated boilers, and had ceased to be;
And men were forced to turn to uses vile
Full many a laboured, many a learned pile.
Many a volume too, and many a tome,
Sharing alike the universal doom,
Now proved a blessing, where they proved a bore,
And blazed with fire they never knew before!
Wondrous! with what avidity men brought
Those solemn works with wit and learning fraught,--
State records, parliamentary debates,
Polemic tracts, and essays upon states,--
To light the fire which every parish vowed
To warm the noses of the coal-less crowd.
Romances next were hurled into the flame;
Next poets, play-writers, historians, came;
Last, Homer, Virgil, Milton, Shakspeare, Scott,
With many a sigh, were added to the lot:
But these the unwilling owners e'en confessed
Burned longer, clearer, brighter, than the rest.
Next furniture was fetched--drawers, tables, chairs,
Beds, stools, and every sort of wooden wares;
Till men were forced to seek the aid of stones
To bear their dinners and to rest their bones;
Till all was burnt. Then surly Winter rose,
And took blue wretches by the frozen nose;
And sad it was to see each chilly wight,
With hands in pockets and coat buttoned tight,
Run up and down the waste, uncovered earth,
Cursed with black cold, sad enemy to mirth;
And, as they ran, remorse their bosoms tore,
For joys they'd heedless cast away before.
Dandies and Russians, Dutchmen, bargemen, tars,
Regretted wasted pipes and lost cigars;
And patriot Catholics and Irish priests
Thought good wood wasted on heretic beasts,
Called Smithfield fire-lighting a thriftless trade,
And bloody Mary but a wasteful jade.
Vainly they ran! No cheering warmth they found,
And the dull sky upon their mis'ry frowned;
And when they entered in their doorless homes,
'Twas stony coldness all like empty tombs.
With frenzied energy they dug the ground,
Or dived the sea. Nor coal nor wood they found!
And many a wretch would lay him down to die,
And welcome Death without one envious sigh;
No terrors found they in his icy stare--
They could not well be colder than they were.
Still many raged and struggled for warm life,
And waged with cold and death unequal strife,
Dined on raw cabbages, devoured raw beef,
Gained indigestion, but gained no relief.
One man there was--a waterman by trade,
Erst in green coat and plated badge arrayed;
Men called him Fish, and rightly him did call--
For he could dive and swim, possessing all
The useful attributes of finny birth--
Finding the water warmer than the earth,
He spent his time in diving; and one day
Found in the river's bottom, where they lay
Hid from the danger of devouring flames,
The stakes that Cæsar drove into the Thames!
"Ho, ho!" cried he; "I've found a treasure here,
Shall warm me snugly till the rolling year
Bring's jolly summer." So with might and main
He tugged them forth and bore them to the plain:--
But, now he'd got them, he had still to learn
That wood when wet is difficult to burn.
Quick-witted in himself, he well divined,
Though cold at heart, some warmth remained behind;
And having ranged the timber with much art,
He sat and dried it with his broadest part.
A long, long week, seven weary nights and days,
Drying the expectant pile he careful stays.
Thus o'er her nest the mother eagle broods;
Or thus the ph[oe]nix of Arabian woods
Sits on his aromatic pile, whose fire,
Of new life redolent, shall soon aspire.
At length 'twas dry! Now with an eager hand
Two flints he seized and fired each rotten brand--
Each rotten brand a grateful ardour showed;
Forth burst the flame, and on the sky it glowed.
High rose the flame; too high, alas! for now
An ancient woman, on a mountain's brow,
Running some worsted through a needle's eye,
(What is it not old women will descry?)
Found out the fire for Fish that furtive flamed,
And forth with scream and shout the fact proclaimed.
"A fire! A fire! A fire!" the beldam cried;
"A fire! A fire!" the village all replied;
"A fire! A fire A fire!" was echoed far and wide.
Each babe took up the tale, each ancient sire,
Though deaf, and blind, and lame, repeated "Fire!"
High, low, rich, poor, good, bad,--all cold the same,--
Loud shouted "Fire!" and kindled at the name.
First hamlets, villages, assumed the cry;
Through burghs and cities then the tidings fly;
All traced them back to where they first began;--
All bawled out "Fire!" and as they bawled they ran.
Now Fish, who selfishly had hoped alone
T' enjoy the fire that he himself had won,
Astonished sees the world around him swarm--
Millions on millions, eager to get warm!
On, on, they rushed, one on the other prest;
And still the crowd behind impelled the rest.
All nations, languages, heights, features, hues,
That the wide universe could then produce,
Running, and jostling, scrambling, tumbling came,
Jammed into marmalade around that flame.
Then Fish, indignant, cried with loud command,--
A brandished boat-hook in his dauntless hand,
"Stand back, my masters! You may all be d----d!
The fire's my own, and I will not be bammed!
Or since the generous ardour fires your soul
To seek this genial flame, from either pole,
With me, its lord, possession to contend,
And squeeze me flat my right while I defend--
Thus I defy you, caitiffs all, and dare
The bold to follow, and my fate to share!"[[21]]
Proudly he said, and sprang into the flame:
High o'er his head the fiery eddies came;
The crowd beheld, and, maddened with the sight,
Dashed on the blaze, and perished in the light.
The fire was out; but still they onward rushed:--
The far extremes the narrow centre pushed,
Squeezed, jammed, cast down, one on the other rose.
And many a mortal trod on his own nose.
Each in his eagerness his fellow mashed:
The sun went down--and all the world was quashed!!!