Then quick, in tones reverberant
That pealed from spire to spire
Rang out the cry of terror:—
“The mill! The mill’s on fire!”
(Thro’ the surrounding valley,
And o’er adjacent hill;
The echoes oft repeated:—
“There’s fire in the mill!”)
Amazed were all the people—
No word their lips could frame
As on the breeze’s soft pinions
Again the wild cries came:—
“The mill! The mill is burning!”
At last, as if from sleep
They wakened to the danger,—
Beheld a bright flame leap!—
Ascending and expanding,
Columns of smoke arose
As from volcanic crater
Where molten lava flows.—
Again the cry resounded:—
“The mill is all on fire!”—
And catching up the tidings
The bells ’neath every spire
Tolled franticly the warning.—
With clanging, vibrant tongue
They sent abroad the message
The village folk among!
Lo! Turner’s happy village—
That peaceful, pleasant scene
Transformed in one brief moment
To one of sorrow keen.—
The smoke grew darker, denser,
Fierce flames leaped high and higher,—
“Oh for Niagarian torrent
To quench the cruel fire!”
Red tongues from every window
Shot forth.—As fortress gray
Shoots flame from belching cannon
In battle’s grim array.—