The Desolation of Eyam The Emigrant, a Tale of the American Woods: and other poems. By William and Mary Howitt |
 |
 | The Desolation of Eyam |  |
101
CALLAO IN 1747.
The watchman stood upon the topmost towerOf old Calláo, and he struck the flag,
As he was wont, at eventide; and then,
Had he been told 'twas to an enemy,
He would have laughed; for he enjoyed a joke,
And every thing was peace. The air, the earth,
The peopled town beneath him, and the sea
All slumbered in the beautiful repose
Of a clear, summer evening. But, in troth,
There was an enemy, though there seemed none.
And such an enemy—that, to it, the might
Of banded armies is but as a breath.
The watchman, gazing on the quiet sea,
102
Far off:—'twas in a moment—then, as soon—
Upward it reared its huge and mountainous bulk,
And with a horrid roar, it swept along
Towards the town. He saw the people run—
He heard one vast and agonizing cry
Of “Mercy!—Mercy!”—and then all was still:—
There were no people,—neither town nor tower;
But a wide ocean rolling its black waves
With nothing to resist them;—and a boat,—
A single boat, the only visible thing,
Tossing beside him. He sprang into it;—
And now no longer warder in Calláo,
Through the lone wilderness of waves he drives,
Seeking a home; for his, and all his race,
Are in the bottom of the eternal flood.
| The Desolation of Eyam | |