The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1844-01-02 00:00:00

THE' FIREMAN'S SONG.

(FROM BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE FOR JANUARY.)
" 80, comrade, up! awake, arise! look forth into the night:
Say, is yon gleam the morning-beam, yon broad and bloody light
Say, does it tell—yon clanging bell—of mass or matin song?
Yon drum-roll—calls it to parade the soldier's armed throng ?

" No, brother, no ! no morning-beam is yonder crimson glare !
Yon deep bell tolls no marin-7'fis the tocsin's hurried blare!
Yon sullen drum-roll mutters out no summons to parade ;
To fight the flame it summons us—the valiant Fire-Brigade !"

Then fast the Fireman rose, and waked his mate that lay beside;'
And eacb man gripp'd his trusty axe, and donn'd bis coat of hide-
There bounds beneath that leather coat a heart as strange to fear
As ever swell'd beneath the steel of gilded cuirassier.

And from beneath the leather casque that guards the Fireman's brow,
A bolder, sterner glance shines out than plumy crest can show ;
And oft shall ply the Fireman's axe, though rude and rough it be,
Where sabre, lance, and bayonet, right soon would turn and flee !

`Off dash the thundering engines, like goblin Jager-chase-
-The sleeper shudders as they pass, and pallid grows his face :1
Away, away ! though close and bright yon ruddy glow appear,
Tar, 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 trooic sea,
Aftera tempest, heaves and falls the ground-swell sleeplessly.

Now, by my faith ! a goodly sight yon 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 b'azing beam,
And the Fireman's stern reveille, shall mingle with their dream!

And sound as sleeps that mansion, ye may mark in every chink
A gleam, as in the lava-cracks by the volcano's brink ;
Throughley-bole and through window-slit, a white and sullen glow—
And all above is rolling smoke, and all is dark below.

Hark ! hear ye not that murmur, that hush and hollow roar,
As when to the south-wester bow the pines upon the shore;
And that low crackling intermix'd, like wither'd twig that breaks,
When in midnight greenwood the startled squirrel wakes !

Lo, how the fire comes roaring on, like a host in war array !
Nor lacks it gallant music to cheer it on its way,
Nor flap of flame-tongued banner, like the Oriflamme of old,
Its vanward cohorts heralding, in crimson, I,reen, and gold.

The engines now are ranged a-row—hark, how they sob and pant !
How gallantly the water-jets curve soaringly aslant!
Up spins the stream—it meets the flame—it bursts in fleecy rain,
lake the last spout of the dying whale, when the lance is in his brain.

Ha, ha! from yon high window thrill'd the wild shriek of despair,
And gibbering phantoms seem to dance within the ruddy glare ;
And as a valiant captain leads his boarders to the fray,
" Up, up, my sons!" our Foreman shouts—" up, firemen, and away!' '

Their arms are strong and sinewy—see how the splinters fly—
Their axes they are sharp and good—" Back, comrades, or ye die—
" Look to the walls !" —a rending crash—they topple—down they

come—
A cloud of sparks—a feeble cheer—again !—and all is dumb.

A pause—as on that battle-day, 'twist France and England's might,
When huge L' Orient blew up at once, in the hottest of the fight :
There was not one, they say,but wi nk'd, and held his breath the while,
Though brave were they that fought that day with Nelson at the Nile.

And by to-morrow's sunrise, amid the steaming stones,
A chain of gold half•melted and a few small white bones,
And a few rags of roasted flesh, alone shall show where died—
The noble and the beautiful, the baby and the bride:

O fire, he is a noble thing—the sot's pipe gives him birth ;
Or from the livid thunder-cloud he leaps alive on earth ;
Or in the western wilderness devouring silently
Or on the lava rocking in the womb of Stromaoli.

Bight well in Hamburg revell'd he—though Elbe ran rolling by—
He could have drain'd—so fierce his thirst—the mighty river dry !
With silk, and gold, and diamond, he cramm'd his hungry maw;
And he tamedthe wild republicans, who knew nor lord nor law !

He feasted well in Moscow—in the city of the Tzar—
When 'fore the northern streamers paled Napoleon's lurid star:
Around tne hoary Kremlin, where Moscow once had stood,
He pass'd, and left a heap behind, of ashes slaked with blood !

He feasted once in London—he feasted best of all—
" When through the close-packed city, he swept from wall to wall
Even as of old the wrath of God came down in fiery rain,
On Sodom and Gomoriha, on the Cities of the Plain!

CARDINAL DE RETZ,
uL
THE COURTIER'S PLOT.

BY PETER POPJOY, Esq.

(For the Liverpool Standard.)