midnight
Leviathan of human greed ; Palpitating hot-bed of iniquity and joy , Greek , Roman , Spanish , Saxon , Kelt , Scot , Pict , Norman and Dane Have swept over thee like winter storms ; And the mighty Cæsar , Julius of old , With a myriad of bucklered warriors And one hundred galleons of sailors Triple-oared mariners , defying wave and fate , Have ploughed the placid face of Father Thames , Startling the loud cry of hawk and bittern As his royal prows grated on thy strand , Or skimmed over the marshes of thy infancy . Yet , amid all the wrecks of human ambition Where Pagan , Jew , Buddhist , Turk and Christian Struggled for the mastery of gold and power , You still march forward , giant-like and brave , Facing the morning of progress and liberty , Carrying thy cross and crown to all lands -- And with thy grand flotilla , chartered by Neptune Remain mistress of all the seas , defiant -- The roar of thy cannon and drum beats Heard with pride and glory around the world ! Sad , how sad , to think that the day will come When not a vestige of this wonderful mass Of human energy shall remain ; Where the cry of the wolf , bat and bittern Shall only be heard , and Nature again Resume her rustic , splendid desolation ! Cities older and far greater than this , Dreaming of everlasting endurance , Have been long since buried in desert sands , Or engulfed in the pitiless waves of ocean , Lost forever from the rusty records Of Time , the tyrant and tomb builder Of man , vain insect of a moment , Who promises himself immortality , And then disappears like the mist of mountains , Or wandering meteors that sparkle and darkle In the midnight of oblivion ! _ We quickly descended from the steeple , passed by Buckingham Palace , Regent Park , British Museum , through Chancery Lane into Fleet street , by Ludgate Hill , under the shadow of old battered Saint Paul 's Church on to the Devil 's Tavern , near Blackfriars Bridge , where we found gay and comfortable lodgings for the night , it being twelve o'clock when we shook hands with Meg Mullen , the rubicund landlady . The Devil 's Tavern was a resort for actors , authors , bohemians , lords and ladies , who did not retire early to their downy couches . The night we arrived the tavern was crowded , as the Actors ' Annual Ball was in progress , and many fair women and brave men belated by Bacchus could not find their way home , and were compelled to remain all night and be cared for by the host of the Devil .