Full many a street has disappear’d
That mournfully one misses—
Where is the house, wherein I kiss’d
Love’s first delicious kisses?
Where is the printing-house, where I
My Reisebilder printed?
The oyster shop, where I oysters gulp’d down
With appetite unstinted?
The Dreckwall too,—where is it now?
I now should seek it vainly;
Where the pavilion, where I ate
So many cakes profanely?
Where is the town-hall, wherein sat
The senate and burghers stately?
A prey to the flames! The flames spared not
Whatever was holiest lately.
The people still were sighing with grief,
And with most mournful faces
The history sad of the great fire told,
And pointed out all its traces:—
“It burnt in every corner at once,
“All was smoke and flames fiercely flashing;
“The churches’ towers all blazed on high,
“And tumbled in with loud crashing.
“The old exchange was also burnt,
“Where our fathers in every weather
“Were wont to assemble for centuries past,
“And honestly traded together.
“The bank, the silvery soul of the town,
“And the books which have always served us
“To note the assets of every man,
“Thank heaven! have been preserved us.
“Thank heaven! In every land they made
“On our behalf large collections;
“A capital job,—we got no less
“Than eight millions in all directions.
“The money from every country flow’d
“In our hands, which were far from unwilling,
“And plenty of food they also sent,
“And we gladly accepted each shilling.