And now four days the sun had seen our woes;
Four nights the moon beheld th' incessant fire;
It seem'd as if the stars more sickly rose,
And farther from the feverish north retire.

In th' empyrean heav'n (the Bless'd abode,)
The Thrones and the Dominions prostrate lie,
Not daring to behold their angry God:
And an hush'd silence damps the tuneful sky.

At length th' Almighty cast a pitying eye,
And mercy softly touch'd his melting breast:
He saw the town's one half in rubbish lie,
And eager flames drive on to storm the rest.

An hollow crystal pyramid he takes,
In firmamental waters dipt above;
Of it a broad extinguisher he makes
And hoods the flames that to their quarry strove.