"Fire! Fire! said the crier;
Where? Where? said the Mayor"

In Pownal Street! said Major Beete,
Those ancient piles of wood,--
The Bagnall Buildings, which complete,
For sixty years have stood!
Of venerable memory;
Among our oldest names;
Ring! ring! the bell, the folk to tell
These buildings are in flames!

Enwrapt in balmy slumbers, lay
The citizens around,
Tir'd with the toils of Saturday,
and, "sleeping very sound."
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! both loud and long,
The Fire-Bell, in its way,
Said sleepers rise and rub your eyes,
There's work to do to-day!

In haste they rose, put on their clothes,
Each striving for the van;
Some with the engines and the hose,
And some with buckets ran,
The people swarm'd, the lines were form'd,
But pipe and hose were vain,-
'Twas all too late to stop the fate
Of Bagnall's old domain!

Thence, raging conflagration red
Went forth, three several ways
North, to the "Mansion House," it spread,
And set it in a blaze.
Three times was check'd the furious flame,
Before the die was cast;
Three times the fire renew'd its claim,
And brought it down at last.

Southward, the fiery current streams,
With wreck and ruin fraught;
Mike Kelly's dwelling brightly gleams,
And Barnard's too has caught!
Up Water Street, with raging heat,
The igneous billows roll,
Eastward their course, with gathering force,
And rage beyond control.

But ah! to trace their onward way
Exceeds the Muses flight;
On shingles dry the cinders fly,
And blaze where'er they light.
A hundred roofs in ruin flare--
'Tis vain to think on names--
Alas for teeming millions there,
Truck Street is all in flames!

And now remark, one fatal spark!
And, ere the hour of noon,
The fire has burnt from Pownal Street
To Eckstadt's grand saloon!
One blackened scene is all between
That meets the astonished eye;
Save Peakes brick warehouse, two whole blocks
In smoking debris lie!

"How great a matter!" who can tell
One spark abroad may send;
Or who divine, if kindled well,
Where its effect shall end?
Not Queen Street wide, the city's pride,
Nor all her sons emprise
Can downward bring the fiery wing,
On which destruction flies!

Across Queen Street the flame is sent,
Urged by the heated blast,
To the old seat of government,
That relic of the past;
Though ninety years it there has stood,
Defiant to decay,
Envelop'd in a fiery flood,
Behold it pass away!

With all its neighboring range!-- and how
The flames again extend!
Two other blocks are burning now,
Where shall this ruin end?
Riches are making fiery wings,
With which to take their flight;
"Exeunt in fumo!" -- transient things,
How soon they're out of sight!

Up! up the hill! to Great George Street
The fire has made its way;
But there, thank God for mercy great,
The flames their fury stay.
Thanks be unto the fire brigade,
Who fought through stifling air,
And by their efforts, nobly made,
Stopp'd devastation there.

Some say the Bishop turn'd the flame;
Well! if that tale be true,
I'll not object, in wonder's name,
To thank the Bishop too.
For had the large Cathedral caught,
And burnt, from steeple down,
We might have said, as ruin spread,
Good-bye to Charlottetown!