THE royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took its stately way down the

Thames through the wilderness of illuminated boats. The air was laden with

Music; the river-banks were beruffled with joy — flames; the distant city lay

In a soft luminous glow from its countless invisible bonfires; above it rose

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

Many a slender spire into the sky, incrusted with sparkling lights, wherefore

In their remoteness they seemed like jeweled lances thrust aloft; as the fleet

Swept along, it was greeted from the banks with a continuous hoarse roar of

Cheers and the ceaseless flash and boom of artillery.

To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these sounds and this

Spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sublime and astonishing. To his little

Friends at his side, the Princess Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey, they were

Nothing.

Arrived at the Dowgate, the fleet was towed up the limpid Walbrook (whose

Channel has now been for two centuries buried out of sight under acres of

Buildings) to Bucklersbury, past houses and under bridges populous with

Merry-makers and brilliantly lighted, and at last came to a halt in a basin

Where now is Barge Yard, in the center of the ancient city of London. Tom

Disembarked, and he and his gallant procession crossed Cheapside and made