Just as the day began to wane and darken,
O'er the high hill, which looks with pride or scorn
Toward the great city.—Ye who have a spark in
Your veins of Cockney spirit, smile or mourn
According as you take things well or ill;—
Bold Britons, we are now on Shooter's Hill!
LXXXI.
The Sun went down, the smoke rose up, as from
A half-unquenched volcano, o'er a space
Which well beseemed the "Devil's drawing-room,"