 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
“It comes! the temple reels and crashes—Jove!
I thank thee! Vesta! let me sleep with thee!”
And on the bosom of the earthquake rocked
The statues and the pillars, and her brain
Whirled with the earth's convulsions, as the maid
Fell by a trembling image and upraised
A prayer of gratitude; while through the vaults,
In fear and ghastly horror, fled the priest,
Breathing quick curses 'mid his warning cries
For succour: and the obscene birds their wings
Flapped o'er his pallid face; and reptiles twined
In folds of knotted venom round his feet.
Yet on he rushed—the blackened walls around
Crashing—the spectral lights hurled hissing down
The cold green waters; and thick darkness came
To bury ruin! Through the arches rent
And falling on he hurried, and a glance
Of sunlight down the granite stairway came,
Like a winged spirit, to direct him on.
The secret door of the adytum swung
Wide, and he hailed the flamens that above
Hastened his flight—when o'er the marble stair
The Nubian pillars of the chancel roof,
Thrown by the earthquake o'er the altar, crashed
Through shrines of gems and gold, mosaic floor
And beams of choicest cedar, and around
The priest of Isis piled a sepulchre.
Amid the trophies of his temple, where
His living heart, crushed by despairing thoughts,
Found burial till the hour of havoc came!
I thank thee! Vesta! let me sleep with thee!”
And on the bosom of the earthquake rocked
The statues and the pillars, and her brain
Whirled with the earth's convulsions, as the maid
Fell by a trembling image and upraised
A prayer of gratitude; while through the vaults,
In fear and ghastly horror, fled the priest,
Breathing quick curses 'mid his warning cries
For succour: and the obscene birds their wings
Flapped o'er his pallid face; and reptiles twined
In folds of knotted venom round his feet.
Yet on he rushed—the blackened walls around
Crashing—the spectral lights hurled hissing down
The cold green waters; and thick darkness came
To bury ruin! Through the arches rent
And falling on he hurried, and a glance
Of sunlight down the granite stairway came,
Like a winged spirit, to direct him on.
The secret door of the adytum swung
Wide, and he hailed the flamens that above
Hastened his flight—when o'er the marble stair
The Nubian pillars of the chancel roof,
Thrown by the earthquake o'er the altar, crashed
Through shrines of gems and gold, mosaic floor
And beams of choicest cedar, and around
112
Amid the trophies of his temple, where
His living heart, crushed by despairing thoughts,
Found burial till the hour of havoc came!
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |