 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
Like the last echo of a trumpet's blast,
Thus, in his last reply, rose Pansa's voice.
“Again we shall not meet in all the realms
Of universal being—all the hours
That linger o'er eternity! we part
Forever, now, each to his deathless doom.
But had not other creed than vengeance filled
A Roman's mind with mercy, words like thine,
(Now thy prætorians leave us twain, the one
With all to lose, the other, all to gain,)
Would bring a direr parting hour, howe'er
Thy Punic blood and Volscian pride revolt.
Oh, thou may'st scoff! thou wouldst outdare the fiends
And mock in Orcus sin's undying moans;
But here we part, proud victim! so, farewell!
Jehovah's wrath is o'er thee—o'er us all—
The shocked earth cries unto the blackened heavens,
The mighty heart of earthly being bursts.
And thou shalt quickly know what Hebrew awe
Trembled to hear—El Shaddai! 't is a name
The phantoms ye adore and curse have borne
Vainly—yon mount is its interpreter—
The Almighty looks in lightning from His throne.
Jove's shrine is covered with the lava shower,
The ashes gather round me! oh, farewell!”
Thus, in his last reply, rose Pansa's voice.
“Again we shall not meet in all the realms
Of universal being—all the hours
That linger o'er eternity! we part
Forever, now, each to his deathless doom.
But had not other creed than vengeance filled
A Roman's mind with mercy, words like thine,
(Now thy prætorians leave us twain, the one
With all to lose, the other, all to gain,)
Would bring a direr parting hour, howe'er
Thy Punic blood and Volscian pride revolt.
Oh, thou may'st scoff! thou wouldst outdare the fiends
And mock in Orcus sin's undying moans;
But here we part, proud victim! so, farewell!
Jehovah's wrath is o'er thee—o'er us all—
The shocked earth cries unto the blackened heavens,
The mighty heart of earthly being bursts.
And thou shalt quickly know what Hebrew awe
Trembled to hear—El Shaddai! 't is a name
148
Vainly—yon mount is its interpreter—
The Almighty looks in lightning from His throne.
Jove's shrine is covered with the lava shower,
The ashes gather round me! oh, farewell!”
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |