University of Virginia Library

A night of gloom and horrors!—Not a breath
Of air was felt:—the thick hot atmosphere
Came on their parching lips, as from the mouth
Of opening furnace. Darkness like a pall
Of deepest shade hung o'er:—no heaven, no earth,
No faintest outline of the temple's form
Against the sky: the uplifted hand was viewless:—
Scarce could the clogg'd and heavy air transmit
The labouring sound: scarce could the torch's flare
Pierce through the gloom; and he who by its red
And dusky light then wander'd through the streets,
Lonely and sad, saw not the earth he press'd.
Oh! for the tempest now! the clattering hail!
Whirlwinds! tornadoes! deluge-bringing rain!
Aught but this heavy-pressing firmament—
This thick and torrid air—this tomblike night!

Who sleeps within the city?—He, the sire,
Who, labouring hard for breath,—with burning brow,
And tense and blood-shot eye,—yet fans the cheek
Of his convulsed and gasping child?

Sleeps she,
The wretched mother, who the fiery skin
Of her delirious infant laves;—the lips
That can no longer drain the dried-up breast,
Wets with the water from the once cool well,
Itself now scarce less burning?

Sleeps the youth,
The new-made bridegroom, by the virgin bride
Outstretch'd,—who prays, though with unmoving lips,
For aid in their last hour of agony?

Reposes she, the lovely youthful maid
Before whom lies, in his last pangs convulsed,
The aged sickly parent? His pale cheek
Has ta'en a purple flush—his eye is wild—
His wither'd hands he tosses to and fro—
Wheezes and snorts for breath—and seems to catch
At shadows. “Water,” then he feebly cries;—
She puts it to his lips—she bathes his brow—
She sprinkles o'er his venerable face:—
“Hot—hot—” he murmurs—“no, 'tis burning hot—”
“Oh! water—cold—cold water.” Muttering thus,
His eye-balls fix—he stiffens—gasps—and dies.

Who sleeps within the city?
Soundly they
Sleep who shall wake no more. He on whom fell
The crushing ruin:—who by the red bolt
Perish'd:—the fear-slain wretch who where he died
Still sits erect—and cold—and stiff: with eye
Staring and fix'd—looking upon the night—
The dead sleep in the city.

Heavily
Drag on the hours: a year of common life
Less slow than such a night.—What is it waves
At intervals along the inky sky
Like a dark blood-red flag? It casts no light
By which to see;—yet 'tis not for the time
That depth intense of blackness,—but a dim
And dusky red obscurity:—such tinge
As sometimes on the low and heavy clouds
Of midnight by th' horizon trembling hangs
Scarce seen—from some far distant watch-fire thrown.

'Tis the vast flame that through the sea of smoke
From high Vesuvius' black and sulphurous mouth
Bursts for an instant forth,—then sinks again,
In that dense vapour quench'd.—They who behold,
Marvel and fear—yet know not whence it is.

Whence come those distant thunder-breathings deep,
That fall with gentlest touch upon the ear,
Yet seem to fill the heavens—and reach earth's centre?

'Tis from that mountain's vast and hollow womb,
Now first conceiving subterranean fire,
And belching earthly thunders.—Thousands hear
That warning voice—yet none its meaning know.—

What is it moves with gentle heave the ground;
Like softest swell of ocean in a calm—
Now rests—then comes again with tremblings soft,
As from the rumbling of a loaded wain—
Felt, tho' not heard?—All know the earthquake's tread,
And would, but cannot, flee.—

How drear the night!
Oh! when will morning come?—the tapers all
That measure out the hours are long since spent
But yet there is no day.—Is the great sun
Consumed too,—or darken'd?—this the time,
So oft foretold, when nature shall expire,—
The heavens be blotted out—and earth in flames
Shall pass away?

Such thoughts o'er many came
As, slowly yielding now, the pall of night
Changed to a dingy red:—like a vast arch
Of iron look'd the heavens when first the heat,
Deep penetrating, to a lurid tinge
Begins to turn its blackness:—redder now—
And redder still the awful concave glows—
Till in its bloody, but uncertain glare,
The bolder may walk forth.—Man meets with man,
And starts as at a fiend:—for from the hot
And fiery sky all things have caught their hue:—
No sweet varieties of colour here
As in the blessed sunshine:—no soft tints
Like those of sweet May-morn,—when day's bright god
Looks smiling from behind delicious mists;
Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass,
Where, 'gainst the rich deep green, the cowslip hangs
His elegant bells of purest gold:—the pale,
Sweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven
Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:—
The little ray-crown'd daisy peeps beneath
When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew,
Bows down its head beneath the fresh'ning breeze;—
Where oft in long dark lines the waving trees
Throw their soft shadows on the sunny fields:—
Where in the music-breathing hedge, the thorn
And pearly white May blossom full of sweets,
Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwined
With dripping honeysuckles whose sweet breath
Sinks to the heart—recalling with a sigh
Dim recollected feelings of the days
Of youth and early love.—Oh! none of these,
Nature's too oft unprized treasures, bless'd
That scene of woe. The pure white marble shaft
That bears aloft the princely portico
Of the proud palace:—the black dungeon gate:—
The pallid statue o'er some honour'd tomb
That ever drooping hangs;—and the bronze Mars
That bares his blood-stain'd sword:—the solemn tree
That o'er the sepulchre his dark green boughs
Hangs melancholy;—and the vivid flower
That in its course still looks upon the sun:—
The deep brown earth, and the fresh garden tints
Of emerald, with flowers of every stain
The rainbow's dye can give;—the beggar's rags,
And the cerulean blue of beauty's robe;—
All in one undistinguishable hue
Are clad, of lurid redness. In the streets
Thousands of fire-tinged figures roam amazed
And fearful. “Is this morn?” they ask,
“Oh! what a night we've pass'd!—but is this morn?
“And what is that, high in the gory clouds,
“That orb of brighter crimson?” On it gaze
Unnumber'd wide and wistful eyes.—By heavens!
It is the sun in his meridian fields!

Where hath his morning splendour slept unseen?
—In that dense sea above of vapour, fire,
Darkness, and storms—his morning splendour slept,
And soon again he'll sink. Devoted race!
Your last bright sun has set:—gaze while ye may
Even on that dark red orb:—fast close around
Th' impenetrable clouds:—sulphureous fogs
Roll on:—light feathery ashes mix, and fill
Th' unwholesome air: the firmament grows dark,
The sun's red disk seems melting in the clouds.
Look—miserable mortals!—look your last:
A faint dim outline only can ye trace:
What see ye now?—rests he behind a cloud?—
No! no!—ye gaze in vain!—his beam is quench'd!—
To you for ever quench'd! High in the heavens
He rides sublime in his immortal course,
And shall for ever roll; but to your eyes
His beams return no more. Far different lights
Must gild your few remaining hours:—the flash
Of the death-dealing lightning—the red glare
Of populous streets in flames—the sparkles dread
Of moony meteors—and an atmosphere
With burning cinders fill'd—and rocks of fire.

Fast came again the shades of utter dark:
So suddenly they came, that those abroad
Scarce found their doors. Dismay sunk deep in all—
Direful forebodings—shapeless horrors rack
Their frenzied souls. Shrieks—curses—prayers and groans—
Deep whispering talk—and maniac mutterings—
Are heard along the air.—

'Twas noon—yet night:
In thicker showers the flaky ashes fell:
Louder and deeper swell'd the thunder's voice:
With stronger throes the labouring earthquake heaved;
Hotter and hotter grew the breathless air.

“Is there no help?” the panting wretches cried:—
“Oh God! is there no help?—in mercy end
“Our sufferings, or our lives:—bid the floods drown—
“The lightnings strike—the tumbling ruins crush—
“The earthquake swallow, and at once destroy us:—
“Bid any sudden plague, if such thy will,
“O'erwhelm us—any thing but this slow death—
“These lingering and invisible fires—that glow
“On earth—in air—above—beneath—around—
“That parch us to the bones,—yet leave us life,
“And sense of pain, and apprehension strong
“Of ills to come. Is there no help? Oh! God!”

Such prayers from thousands came, though power of speech
Perchance denied, yet in the burning brain
Conceived—and in the glaring anguish'd eye,
And by the trembling of the shrivell'd lip,
To Heaven interpreted.

What thought can reach,
What language can express, the agonies—
The horrors of that hour! An earth beneath
That threaten'd to devour—an atmosphere
That burn'd and choked—ashes that fell for rain—
Thunders that roar'd above—thunders that groan'd
And heaved below—and solid darkness round,
That like an ocean of black waters whelm'd
And press'd upon the earth!—

Lives there a man,
Who, in some death-like trance, to the dark tomb
Consign'd, has there awoke; smelt the foul stench
Of the dank vault; felt on his straiten'd limbs
The grave's habiliments; then, in despair
And terror strong, has burst his narrow house,
And known the shadows of the seal'd-up tomb?
Such man alone may image well this deep,
Unutterable darkness.—Lives there one.
Who, in some prison cell chain'd down, has heard
The flames loud crackling, roaring underneath;
Felt to his shrinking foot the floor grow hot;
Breathed the thick, stifling air, while thro' each chink
The quenchless fire has rush'd, till his heart seem'd
To burst, his brain to burn? such wretch alone
May faintly know the oppressive misery
Of that dire atmosphere.

So pass'd the time;—
Still fell the ashy showers;—still rock'd the earth:—
Still with increasing rage Vesuvius spoke
In thunders;—still a pitchy darkness hung
Impenetrable o'er them. Hundreds then
Had perish'd; thousands gasp'd 'twixt life and death;
All wanted aid,—but there was none to help.

'Twas now the middle hour 'tween noon and eve:—
What is it meets the wistful, open'd ear,
At the short thunder-pauses,—heavily
Dropping, wide scatter'd on the ashy bed
That strews the streets?—thicker and faster now
It falls;—it trickles from the eaves;—it pours—
It rolls in torrents now:—“Oh God!” they cry,
“'Tis rain!—'tis blessed rain!” Wide fly the doors—
The windows open fly:—crowds fill the streets
Though dark as chaos:—faces, hands are raised
Greedy to catch the treasure ere it falls.
But what a rain is this!—Oh! not like showers
Of spring delicious;—when the gladsome earth
Breathes fragrance all around;—when the flowers droop
Their freshen'd, glistening heads;—the bright green grass
Waves twinkling to the breeze;—the birds strike up
Their joyous symphonies;—the heifer lows;—
The lambkin gambols blithe;—the trout upsprings
From the clear brook;—and man forgets his cares,
And walks abroad to breathe the perfumed air,
And warm him in the sun:—Oh! not like showers
Of glorious spring is this!—'tis a hot flood—
A gush of steaming rain!—but yet 'tis moist,
And fresh'ning to their parch'd and cracking skin;—
And there they stand, and drink at every pore
The softening fluid. Every age, and rank,
And sex, is there,—in darkness and in storm,
From which, in happier hour, the hardiest frame
Would have shrunk back; yet feel they for the time
A pause from misery. But through the streets
The deep'ning torrent flows—like o'ercharg'd brook
Hoarse-murmuring—rushing. Heavier falls the rain—
In floods it falls:—already to the knees
The children stand immersed:—their cries of fear
Are heard:—the clouds still burst above:—no more
In drops, but solid sheets, the rain descends:
The deluge roars and rushes on:—terror
O'er-masters all:—fain would they seek their homes,
But who shall guide their steps?—the blinding gloom
Mocks their attempts; the dashing of the flood,
The thunder's roll, the shrieks of those who call
For aid that none can give; confusion strange
'Tis all—dismay unspeakable. Even now
Some in the blacken'd torrent are borne down,
And their shrill drowning cries are heard: that fate
Had been the doom of multitudes—but lo!
On the Tartarean darkness,—suddenly
Burst the wide sheeted lightning;—on the face
Of the black, troubled waters glanced and heaved—
Gleam'd on the shining roofs—the temple domes
Wash'd o'er with silvery light—and on the high
And marble columns show'd the clear, calm brows
Of sculptured heroes, who like Gods serene
Look'd-on amid convulsions, storms, and death.—
Flash follow'd flash;—unceasing thunders roll'd
And shouted through the arch of Heaven:—at once
O'er all the sky unnumber'd lightnings play'd;—
Unnumber'd thunders bellow'd and career'd:—
The lofty pillars were shiver'd—and fell to earth—
The temples fired—houses were split in twain—
And in the turbid rain-streams, thick upmix'd
With ashes hot, the bright blue thunderbolts
Fell hissing.—

Where are now the hapless crowds
That lately fill'd the streets?—Look on the earth;—
There blacken'd corses lie by lightning singed:—
There, tumbling down the stream, a hideous head
Nods in its course:—there, underneath yon pile
Of levell'd walls, some mangled limb alone
Looks out in gore bedrench'd from the crush'd trunk
Hot welling:—and see there a head forth peeps:—
Thoughtful and calm it seems, though somewhat pale,
And lightly dash'd with blood:—you'd say it lived,
And matters deep was pondering,—so the eye,
Open and earnest, seems emitting thought;—
The knitted forehead to the working brain
So correspondent seems; but that, flat press'd
Beneath yon mountain load,—what once was limbs,—
Heart—lungs—flesh—nerves and bone—to form a man,
Now lies a crimson jelly—oozing slow,
And bubbling from beneath.—

Their houses, most,
Though to the lowest stone the buildings rock,
And groan and creak the beams,—yet safer hold
Than those dire lightnings—and that burning shower
Unshelter'd to oppose.—In cellars dark,—
Far underground and gloomy, others sit
And list the deaden'd uproar of the storm
High over them, and underneath they hear
Thunders deep buried. But along the shore
Stand some and look aghast upon the deep:—
There is no wind in heaven—and yet the waves
Seem striving with a tempest: pond'rously
They swell aloft—and shake their foamy heads:—
Now sink in hollows;—now together dash,
And spit the whizzing spray on high:—this way,
One instant roll—then backward;—not like seas
Still bowing to the impulse of the wind
With onward rise and fall,—but to and fro
Tossing and reeling,—as the Almighty hand
Had smitten underneath their rocky bed
And made the abysses tremble and leap up.—
Heavily rock the anchor'd barks:—their masts
Dash on alternate sides the brine:—the prow
Now seems to bore into the gulph,—now mounts,
And the broad stern descends:—and over all
Ten thousand lightnings shake their blazing brands;
Making the waves seem flame;—and with the clash
And hiss of charging billows joins the roar
Of never dying thunders.—

It was now
The hour of midnight:—with unyielding force
The storm continued, though long time the rain
Had ceased to plough the earth:—but now came on
A hot and sulphurous wind:—and on it borne
Thick—black—revolving—mountain heaps of smoke,
With heavier fall of ashes mix'd, that brought
A momentary darkness: and anon
Came coals of fire, wide scatter'd through the air,
And on the moist ground steaming as they fell.

The wind blows strong:—swiftly the black smoke rolls
And tumbles onward:—in its depths is night;—
But all around incessant lightnings glance,
Tinging its heavy masses with bright skirts
Of vivid red,—and through its pitchy clouds
Breaking in forked lines of fire, as though
Darkness with light held strife for mastery.—
The firmament might seem another earth
With mountains huge of brass—and darting streams
Between, of liquid silver;—such a bulk
And hue the piled up clouds,—and shone so bright
Their margins with the lightning's ceaseless flow,—
Did they not roll, as earth does not,—and take
Each instant new and uncouth forms, scouring
With furious haste along, like demon shapes
On hell's unholy errands bound.

But see!
The tempest thickens:—louder howls the blast:—
The burning cinders fall like hailstones down;
Darker and faster rolls the flood of smoke:—
And sailing 'thwart the sky huge meteors trail
Their scintillating globes of varied hues:—
Now in the dense clouds dip, eclips'd and lost;—
Now they emerge, and, like the ravenous bird
Hovering above his prey, coast slowly on
In track erratic,—or with sudden rage
Dart through the vast of air, or down to earth
Bursting and sparkling:—while from the deep pit
Of dire Vesuvius hurl'd, fly burning rocks
High arching through the air, with glow intense
Kindling the heavens, and through the boisterous wind
Roaring. Up to the clouds fly some, a bow
Of crimson radiance painting on the sky,—
Then harmless in the ocean plunge and die.
But many on that hapless city fall;—at once
Through roof—through strong-beam'd floors, resistless sinks
The heated rock;—down to the earth it goes:—
Tremble and crack the walls,—or overthrown
By that tremendous stroke, in ruins lie:—
A shriek perchance is heard;—but instant starts
The hollow-sounding flame, in the rough wind
Wafting and moaning.—

What a night is this!
Ye miserable remnants of a race,
Not three days since in wealth—in ease—in joy
O'ersated;—blaming if the sun too bright
Shone on your path,—or if too rude the breeze
Came to your pamper'd cheeks;—if your nice meats,
Not truly temper'd to fastidious taste,
Gave cause enough for wrath;—or if your wines
Their crystal clearness had not,—Oh! what change!
What awful change ye know!—But yet awhile
Endure your ills!—to-morrow ye shall know
Nor pain—nor grief—nor fear;—mean time all these
And woes on woes unspeakable must ye feel
While yet ye breathe and live.—Oh! give me words—
Spirit of horrors—from the tongues of hell;—
Such as the damn'd, to paint their agonies
And terrors, can alone invent—this scene
Of dread unutterable to pourtray,
Though colours for such picture all too faint!—

A city from whose roofs a thousand fires
Shook their red flags;—on which the furious wind
Drove ashes and hot coals in crimson showers,
Thick as against some mountain's lofty side
The wintry blast flings the slant cloud of hail,
And rain and cutting sleet;—beneath which roll'd
The earth as 'twere an ocean;—on which fell,
Like comets from their orbits loosed, huge rocks
Red hot, and with a sound tearing the air,
Such as amid the branches of the oak
The rushing tempest makes; and over which
Thick smoke and vivid lightnings, like a strife
Between the shadows and the fires of hell,
Darken'd and vollied.—Such the hideous fate
Those miserables proved.—The cries of pain,
Of terror were not heard,—with such a voice
The thunders call'd,—so rumbled over head,
As though the vault of heaven had been a drum
Smote on by angry gods with thunderbolts.—

Here yelling lay, though even himself heard not,
A wretch, with eyes distorted and pursed brow,
Grinning and foaming blood:—beneath the weight
Of a vast beam on fire, his lower parts
Were crush'd and burning:—on the red hot wood
The veins still spouted out the crimson tide.—
He begg'd for death—and heaven in mercy heard;—
With sudden heave the earthquake lifted up
The ponderous timber, that upon his head
Fell down again—and instant press'd out life.—

There one on whom the flash had glanced, and left
Alive, though with all power of motion gone,
Or speech:—helpless he lay;—now by the stream
That still, though with diminish'd current, flowed,
A little way wash'd on,—now left, like weed
By the sea side, that sometimes on the wave
Is tost,—sometimes upon the beach left dry.—
And powerless as that weed was he;—yet sense
Of pain perchance he had, for his white face,
Tranquil, though ghastly, strange distortion shew'd
As on his belly fell a glowing coal
That in his bowels gnaw'd and hiss'd:—yet strength
To turn or cast the burning plague away
He had not;—so he lay till, sudden swell'd,
The flood came on and roll'd him slowly down,
With face now tow'rds the sky,—now bent on earth,
And arms all helpless turning as he turn'd,
And thus at length he died.—

Howling and mad
With swell'd and lolling tongues, and eyes of blood,
And jaded, staggering step, here dogs in troops
Roam'd through the streets:—o'er many a dying man,
And many a mangled carcase, heedless past,
In their unceasing course:—or only paused
A moment in the steaming blood to slake
Their burning thirst,—then lifted up again
Their madden'd howl;—and with their low-hung heads
Swell'd hideously, and swaying to their tread,
Toil'd heavy-gaited on.

There on the roofs
Of burning buildings, of a hue as red
As the red flames around them, might be seen
Figures of men—and females with their robes
Streaming before the wind;—in agony
Of terror running to and fro, with hands
And faces lifted up to heaven for help.—
Faster they hurry on;—the flames are nigh;
In the bright light you may their features see,
Their squared and glaring eyes—their brows deep plough'd—
Their wide and hideous grin.—Ah! see! some rush
With spreading arms into the flame:—some pause
A moment on the tottering brink to look
Before them at the precipice,—behind
At the advancing flame,—then howling leap
Head downwards, and upon the marble flags
Lie shatter'd:—some whom courage nor despair
Could urge to hasten death, stay yet awhile
In flame and smoke enveloped, till at once
Burst in the roofs, and, shrieking, down they fall
With arms and legs outstretch'd and stiff, to glut
The ravenous element.

At times there come,
Rushing like tempest, horses from their stalls
Broke loose:—cream'd o'er with foam:—fire from their eyes
Flashing:—their nostrils wide and bloody red:—
They fly—they stop—they glare around—start back—
Shrink trembling to the earth, dropping thick sweat:—
Their manes are bristled high;—quick heave their flanks,
Their mouths are wide and ghastly.—Then again
They leap erect—start—stare around—and fly
Frantic and shrieking—headlong—blind with fear—
In clouds of smoke and flame and burning coals
Mingling and glancing back again.

And here
Were men, by fear to raving madness driven,
Yelling like wolves at midnight, when the scent
Of blood regales their nostrils.—Others sate
On carcases upheap'd, and stupidly
Gaped round like ideots.—But one there was,
A man of noble bearing, with a look
That might become a god;—an eye that seem'd
Fitted to govern empires, and to pierce
The darkness of the future, and behold
Events yet growing there:—on this dread scene
Thoughtful he gazed, yet calm:—beside him walk'd,
Supported on his arm, his trembling wife
Covering her eyes; and by the hand he led
A lovely shrinking boy. Round them fell thick
The ashy shower:—before them frequent roll'd
The glowing rocks:—with direful crash came down
The burning walls:—the lightnings at their feet
Struck up the earth;—the father's face grew pale;—
He saw resistless fate at hand, and fear'd
The dreadful deaths that thousands felt might fall
On those he loved:—then struck he on his breast,
And, pausing, drew a glittering dagger forth,
And dealt them both a sudden blow of mercy:—
Kiss'd them in death, then turn'd tow'rds heaven a look
Of supplication; and, with steady hand,
Gazing the while on those his loved ones slain,
As though his fate deserved no thought, he drove
The steel deep in his heart—and instant died.—

An old grey-headed man was tottering on
He knew not whither:—often he look'd up
At that strange sky with wild and troubled face,
Still muttering as he went.—His fate was blest;
For, as he hurried on, a vivid bolt
Struck his bare head; and, ere he reach'd the earth,
To a black, brittle cinder burnt him up.

But miserable above all were they
The dungeon captives, by their ponderous chains
Chain'd to the ground:—helpless—and hopeless:—far
From aid of man, or kindly sympathy,
Cheering though vain:—their subterranean cells
No safeguard—for the thunders roll'd above,
And through the earth below:—the lightnings pierced
Their dens profound, now first illumined bright
Only to show the swaying walls,—the earth
Cracking and closing back:—the arched roofs
Heaving and grinding, stone 'gainst splintering stone;
Each moment threating hideous ruin down,
Yet still delaying:—while the wretches shrunk,
As they look'd up with agonized face,
And call'd on God to help:—or loud exclaim'd
On wives or children whom they never more
Might clasp within their arms. Oh! then they tugg'd
In frenzy at their fetters:—gnash'd their teeth—
And howl'd in misery and despair:—fiercely
They stamp'd upon the earth:—clench'd their hard hands,
And smote themselves,—and, cursing bitterly,
Vehement at their irons dragg'd again.—
A long and dreadful struggle.—Vain!—they sink
Exhausted—breathless—calm:—the calm of death
To some:—to others but a fearful pause,
While life, and strength, and energy return
To torture them anew.—They cannot 'scape:—
As well with their weak hands they might hold up
The reeling walls, or prop the pile above,
When the strong arch has burst beneath the shock
Of the raging ground, as from their rocky bed
The deep driven, massy staples tear away,
Or break their iron links.

There was a man,
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespass'd on the laws (as spirits bold
And young will oft from mere impulse of blood,
And from no taint of viciousness, o'erleap
The boundaries of right), in dungeon low
Chain'd down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind. While yet
The beard was new and tender on his chin,
A stolen embrace had given a young one claim
To call him father:—'twas a rosy boy,
A little faithful copy of his sire
In face and gesture. In her pangs she died
That gave him birth; and ever since the imp
Had been his father's solace and his care.
By day his play-fellow and guard,
He made him mimic shields and helms of straw,
And taught him how to use his falchion dire
Of lath: to leap; to run; to lie in ambush close;
To couch his little spear;—his wooden steed
With fiery eyes, and arching neck, and ears
For ever, as they caught the sounds of war, erect,
Fearless to mount and tame in all his pride:
By night the boy was pillow'd on his arm.
At morn they rose together; in the woods
At spring time to hunt out the squirrel's nest;
Or of their spotted eggs—or chirping young
To spoil the timid birds:—or through the fields,
Spangled with dewy diamonds, would they roam
To pluck the gaudy flowers:—or in the brook
Would snare the glittering fry:—or banks of mud
With mighty toil thrown up, throw down again,
For childhood's weighty reasons.

Every sport
The father shared and heighten'd. But at length
The rigorous law had grasp'd him, and condemn'd
To fetters and to darkness. He had borne
His sentence without shrinking, like a son
Of that imperial city at whose frown
Earth's nations shook;—and would have bid adieu
To the bright heavens awhile, and the green earth,
And the sweet air, and sweeter liberty,—
Nor would have utter'd plaint, nor dress'd his face
That loved to smile in sorrow's livery;—
But when he took that boy within his arms,
And kiss'd his pale and frighten'd face; and felt
The little heart within his sobbing breast
Beating with quick, hard strokes,—and knew he tried,
Child as he was, to keep his sorrows hid
From his fond father's eye;—Oh! then the tears
Fast trickled down his cheeks;—his mighty heart
Seem'd bursting:—strong, convulsive sobbings choked
His parting blessing. With averted head,
(For when he look'd upon that innocent face
He felt a burning in his brain that warn'd
Of madness if he gazed, such torturing thoughts
Came crowding with each look) he blest, embraced,
And bade his boy farewell.—

The captive's lot
He felt in all its bitterness:—the walls
Of his deep dungeon answer'd many a sigh
And heart-heaved groan. His tale was known, and touch'd
His jailor with compassion;—and the boy,
Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled
His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm
With his loved presence that in every wound
Dropt healing. But in this terrific hour
He was a poison'd arrow in the breast
Where he had been a cure.—

With earliest morn
Of that first day of darkness and amaze
He came. The iron door was closed,—for them
Never to open more! The day, the night
Dragg'd slowly by; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city. Well they heard
The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath,
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air
Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping; and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by; nor would he wake
From his sound rest th' unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state. On his low couch
The fetter'd soldier sunk—and with deep awe
Listen'd the fearful sounds:—with upturn'd eye
To the great gods he breath'd a prayer;—then strove
To calm himself, and lose in sleep awhile
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep:—
His body bnrn'd with feverish heat;—his chains
Clank'd loud although he moved not: deep in earth
Groan'd unimaginable thunders:—sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died
Like the sad moanings of November's wind
In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chill'd
His blood that burn'd before:—cold clammy sweats
Came o'er him:—then anon a fiery thrill
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk
And shiver'd as in fear:—now upright leap'd,
As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
And long'd to cope with death.

He slept at last,
A troubled dreamy sleep. Well,—had he slept
Never to waken more! His hours are few,
But terrible his agony. The night
Dragg'd slowly by:—the hours of morning pass'd:—
The gory sun had shown his mocking light
In the red heavens a moment, and gone back
To his deep shrine of darkness:—night had come
At noon upon the earth:—the heavy floods
Of black and steaming rain had fallen:—but they,
That miserable sire and son knew not,
And sleep was heavy on them.

Soon the storm
Burst forth: the lightnings glanced:—the air
Shook with the thunders. They awoke;—they sprung
Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glow'd
A moment as in sunshine,—and was dark:—
Again a flood of white flame fills the cell;
Dying away upon the dazzled eye
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence,
And blackest darkness.—With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was fill'd; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fever'd earth
Jarring and lifting—and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain:—yet knew he not,
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already given.—Where, man of woe!
Where wretched father! is thy boy? Thou call'st
His name in vain:—he cannot answer thee.—

Loudly the father call'd upon his child:—
No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously
He search'd their couch of straw:—with hèadlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,
Groped darkling on the earth:—no child was there.
Again he call'd:—again at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters,—till the blood
Seem'd bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flash'd,—he strain'd with arm extended far
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!
Yet still renew'd:—still round and round he goes,
And strains and snatches,—and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now:—
He plants against the wall his feet;—his chain
Grasps;—tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple;—yells and shrieks with rage,
And like a desert lion in the snare
Raging to break his toils,—to and fro bounds.
But see! the ground is opening:—a blue light
Mounts, gently waving,—noiseless:—thin and cold
It seems, and like a rain-bow tint, not flame;
But by its lustre, on the earth outstretch'd,
Behold the lifeless child!—his dress is singed,
And over his serene face a dark line
Points out the lightning's track.

The father saw,—
And all his fury fled:—a dead calm fell
That instant on him:—speechless, fix'd he stood,
And with a look that never wander'd, gazed
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed,—and round those pouting lips
The wonted smile return'd.

Silent and pale
The father stands:—no tear is in his eye:—
The thunders bellow—but he hears them not:—
The ground lifts like a sea:—he knows it not:—
The strong walls grind and gape:—the vaulted roof
Takes shapes like bubble tossing in the wind:—
See! he looks up and smiles;—for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die.

It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves tow'rds the father's outstretch'd arm his boy:—
Once he has touch'd his garment;—how his eye
Lightens with love—and hope—and anxious fears!
Ha! see! he has him now!—he clasps him round—
Kisses his face;—puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow:—looks in his eyes—
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands—
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping—and resign'd awaits
Undreaded death.

And death came soon, and swift,
And pangless.

The huge pile sunk down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls—arches—roof—
And deep foundation stones—all mingling fell!—