Away, away! though close and bright yon ruddy glow appear,
Far, far we have to gallop yet, or e'er our work we near!
A plain of upturn'd faces—pale brows and quivering lips,
All flickering like the tropic sea in the green light of eclipse;
And the multitude waves to and fro, as in the tropic sea,
After a tempest, heaves and falls the ground-swell sleeplessly.
Now, by my faith! goodly sight you mansion fast asleep—
Those winking lamps beside the gate a dull watch seem to keep—
But a gay awaking waits them, when the crash of blazing beam,
And the Fireman's stern réveille, shall mingle with their dream!