University of Virginia Library

POMPEII.

No trace remained upon the face of earth
Of those forgotten cities which lay deep
Entombed, in all their beauty, at the foot
Of treacherous Vesuvius, but whose fate
Had once appalled mankind. The world was old:
Near twice a thousand springs had passed since then,
Near twice a thousand autumns. Year by year
The unsuspecting peasant drove his plough
Above the sleeping streets, and year by year
The rustling ripple of the golden corn
Passed and repassed with every shifting breeze;
While underneath, until the day should come,
The fresco and mosaic still endured
In all the freshness of their pristine tints,
And all the records of a daily life,
So like our own, brought to a sudden stop,
As by a day of judgment premature
And partial, lay intact. And now we stroll
In these unburied streets, or sit and watch
The bright green panting lizards as they dart
And pause, and peep, and dart again among
The antique walls and pavements; while the mind
Gets ever nearer to Antiquity,
Until the great catastrophe appears
In all its vivid horror. Once again
The city lives, nor fears. We see its throng,
Its sunny beauty and its carelessness,
The many coloured awnings of its streets,
Its verdure, and its flowers, and its fruits,
Its houses, and their shady inner courts;
We even hear the splash of fountains still.
When dreamy noontide's heat had lulled the mind,
And Nature basked in sunshine; when the capes
And distant hills were shadowy and faint;
When all was listless, and no sound was heard
Save lapping wavelets of the tideless sea;
When every flower drooped its languid head,
And air was heavy with the August scents,
Day turned to night; the face of earth was changed,
And Hell let loose on Heaven;—for what shores
Could claim the name of Heaven, if not these?
In that unnatural gloom none knew or cared
When came the real night, which brought no peace;
But ever and anon, with lurid glare,
The torches of the fugitives, who sought
Each other in the quickly altering streets,
Lit up the falling ashes, and exposed
Some face of horror. High above the shouts—
Above the unknown sounds that came from earth—
Above the crash of columns and of walls,—
Rose the shrill cry of wounded animals,
Or shriek of women trodden under foot.
Death came from every side. The wretches found
No safety in the courage of despair,
No pity in the elements. The air
Was heavy with the ever-falling ash,
Like lurid snowdrifts in the plains of Hell;
The waving earth refused to bear their steps,
Or suddenly enwrapt them in their flight
With vapours deadly and invisible, which made
The mother drop the babe she held, the bride
Her bridegroom's hand, the miser drop his gold
And bite the dust; and then the ashes hid
Their bodies; while, in cellars too secure,
Where many sought for life, Death took his time,
And dealt in nameless horrors, as with him
Who, taking refuge with his dog, died first,
And then was eaten. But all this was deep
Beneath the livid ashes which enclosed
Pompeii now, and hid her from the world.