University of Virginia Library

Few in this time of peril and dismay
The sole, and desperate chance for safety tried,
For reason was bewilder'd:—could they leave
The fated city walls, a feeble hope
Might yet remain:—that, till the storm burst out,
The intensity of darkness had forbid;—
They now had light enough,—though like the waves
Of the enraged Atlantic, when the winds
Have bared its frightful depths, where darkling sleep
For ages the huge monsters of the abyss
Obscene,—and higher than the eagle's flight
Have lifted up the surge,—roll'd on the clouds
Of pitchy and sulphureous smoke, whose shade
Would seem a tenfold night,—but through them broke
A thousand lightnings, and around them glanced,
And roll'd, and hiss'd, upon the glistening earth.
But useless now that light:—no trace remain'd
Of roads frequented:—far as eye could reach,
In the short moments when the shifting wind
Bore off the ashy showers and clear'd the view
A bed of black and smoking ashes, quench'd
With rain, alone was visible:—the trunks
Of trees, leafless and branchless, peer'd above
Their burning mantle,—warning him whose feet
Would seek for safety there, that death could reach
Alike the fields or city. Yet were some
Who tried the desperate venture:—every where
Rivers new form'd swept on with ashes gorged:—
Who 'scaped the stream, was by the lightning slain;—
Who 'scaped the lightning—by the burning rocks,
That fell like hail-stones round, met death. One man
Alone survived to tell the tale and die
A maniac.

Now too came a hasty glance,
As for a happy moment the fierce blast
Blew off the darkening smoke and fiery shower,
Of the dire fury, whose remorseless rage,
Till then unknown, had all these cureless woes
Heap'd on them. Clear as if the noon day sun
Shot down his brightest rays, the giant bulk
Stood out of grim Vesuvius, late the soil
Where the ripe vineyards groan'd beneath the loads
Of richest fruits, scattering sweet perfume round
That even to breathe the air was luxury:—
On whose soft swelling side, unnumber'd stood
The marble villas, glittering 'gainst the green
Of nature's simple vest,—the boast of wealth;
Where pleasure sought its most fantastic joys,
And grief seem'd never known:—but now its banks
Are red and burning with the glowing coals
And masses vast of blazing rock that roll
Impetuous down.—Right upward to the sky,
In circuit large as some deep bay where rides
A navy from the winds and roaring waves
Secure,—a pillar of bright fire intense
Shoots its vast shaft, as though to prop the heavens
Lest thunders rock it down;—and o'er its top,
Waving and shaking in the furious wind,
Billows on billows roll of thickest smoke,
Cut through and sprinkled by the sun-like blaze
Of myriad ponderous rocks,—in the deep pit
Of unimaginable heat below
To its own fervour raised,—then, with the speed
And dazzle of the lightning launch'd in air
Right upward, far beyond the ken of man,—
Till in the stilly regions of the sky,
Past even the din of this strange uproar,—where
The stars are softly twinkling, and the air,
Cold, pure, and thin, glides gently on, or rests
In deep repose as in another world,
Where even the wreck of this had not been known;—
The fiery globes, their lustre and their heat
Deaden'd and spent, with lagging speed awhile
Climb up—and stop:—a moment in the air
Balanced and motionless;—then down—down—sink—
Faster and faster every instant—down
They hurry on with speed that mocks the eye,
Till on the earth, or chance in the wide gulf
Whence first hurl'd forth, they sink.

With course aslant
Are others thrown, like rainbows spanning o'er
The vaulted sky,—but with the vivid beam
Of flying suns:—and on the fierce wind rush
Dense showers of red-hot cinders: while adown
The mountain's side, from a vast chasm spew'd forth,
A torrent wide and deep of liquid fire—
The bowels of the earth, by heat intense
Melted,—rolls down its thick and heavy waves
In slow but irresistible course. The earth
Is furrow'd for a channel where it goes:—
The sturdiest trees—the strongest buildings sink
Before its might, as falls beneath the scythe
The tender grass in June:—and on the ground—
And round the mountain's side—and o'er its mouth—
And through the sea of jetty vapour,—glance
Unintermitting lightnings.—

Such appear'd
Vesuvius for a moment to the eye
That in the city yet could look on aught;
But only for a moment. As they gazed,
With crash as though earth's deep foundations sunk
In hideous ruin—lo! the mountain's top
And half its burning sides into the gulf
Of fire sink down; loud roaring,—flashing high
A firmament of star-like sparkles, mix'd
With seas of belching smoke:—and rocks, so vast
That on their roomy summits warlike towers
Or temples their foundations might have cast,—
Rise burning red into the kindling clouds
Roaring like angry ocean.—

Sweeping back
On the strong tempest's wing, the direful cone
Of mingled fire and darkness, from the mouth
Of the red mountain upward to the sky
And down to earth flung out; upon them came
With doubling force and fury. Thicker fell
The showers of ashes and of burning coals;—
Louder the tempest howl'd along the air;—
The thunders roar'd with height'ning madness out;—
And the earth shook as though in pangs of death
Rack'd and convulsed.

Despair or madness now
Seized every mind. Of those who yesterday
Had lived, not half remain'd. These—torpid—lost,
Alike indifferent seem'd to life or death:—
Seated on earth, or on the heaps of dead,
The lightning's flash they reck'd not, though it roll'd
Even at their feet:—the glowing rock fell nigh,
But they regarded not:—on him who sunk
Beside them dead, they cast no look,—they felt
No pity:—though the rudely tossing walls
Seem'd toppling o'er their heads, they shrunk not back,
They ask'd nor death nor life. There others, wild,
Drunken and rioting in misery,
Ran furious through the streets,—laughing aloud,
Shouting and leaping—covetous of death,
And sporting in its horrors.

With drawn sword
Bright flashing at he shook it o'er his head,
His wild eyes glowing in his blood-stain'd face,
One bounded with huge strides and maniac grin,
And struck at all he met;—and, as the blood
Spun out, would pause, and with ferocious look
Like madman's half, half like the murderer's smile
Who sees his victim dying,—dip his hand
In the hot stream,—then shout and haste away
With frantic gesture, flourishing his blade,
To seek another banquet. Soon he saw
A fury like himself,—and they shook hands
As friends long parted, unexpected met
In some far land;—then, at each other's breast
Pointing their swords, together rush'd and fell:—
Each at the other's death-wound smiled—and died.—

There stood within a square a bloody man
Who with bared arm was brandishing an axe:—
His fellows round laugh'd merrily to see
How at a blow he had beat out the brains
Of one who begg'd him slay him. One by one
They lay upon the earth, and he struck out
Their brains;—and still the standers by laugh'd loud
And came to die in turn, till all were slain
Save the blood-spatter'd slayer. Then he threw
His axe upon the ground, and wiped his brow,
And staring stupidly at heaven,—laugh'd out
To see the war of fire and darkness there:—
The big black clouds, like rocks of blackest jet
Rolling impetuous, tumbling in the blast,—
Pond'rous as iron—shadowy as the grave,—
Seeming to threat the world with endless night;
And then thick-coming lightnings, through and through
Piercing their deep abysses;—wrapping round
Their strong mark'd-edges with broad lines of fire
Like skirtings from the solid sun cut out:—
Now darkness for an instant,—and now light;—
A cloud of ashes here like wintry storm
At midnight;—there bright showers of coals red-hot
Pelting aslant and running on the earth
With glow as of a furnace.—At this strife
He laugh'd incessant, but nigh to him fell
A mass of burning stone:—harsh jarr'd the ground
Like ship that strikes a rock, and high up flew
Thick clouds of ashes and of shiver'd earth
Driven by the dreadful blow:—quick rising then
The whirling fragment on the axe-man struck,
And scatter'd far and wide his flesh and limbs
Still quivering:—then onward held its course,
Roaring and sparkling,—ploughing up the ground,
And bounding through the air,—till in a bed
Of ashes choked, it stopp'd, and growl'd, and smoked.—

But there a youthful female, of a form
Perfect as beauty's goddess,—with her locks
Of amber streaming on the wind, and vest
Loose floating, saunter'd on and rock'd
A headless infant in her arms:—she sung
The mother's song who soothes her restless babe
To slumber:—sometimes look'd she on the heavens
With pale and wistful face,—yet still she sung,
Nor seem'd to know what horrors girt her round;—
Sometimes upon the mutilated corse
She bent a wild and strangely troubled look,
But still her hush-song kept:—poor wretch! she sunk
Exhausted on the warm and ashy bed,
And a death swoon came o'er her:—there she lay
Pale as a snow drop, with soft, open eye,
And lips apart, on which with her last breath
The mother's love-strain trembled,—and the babe
Was folded to her bosom. There was none
To help—and so she died.—

A wretched man,
His wife,—two blooming daughters,—and a son,—
A youth of tender years and spirit soft,—
Had left their rocking home, and left behind—
For terror stiffen'd every aged limb,
That he seem'd stone,—the father's reverend sire.
They did not much implore him to be gone,
For horrors such as these can dull the soul
Of finest sensibility, and fix
All thought on self alone;—can load the brain
With heavy apathy, that death, or life,
Pleasure, or pain, seem but indifferent things,
Not worthy choice or shunning;—or sometimes,
As different natures different feelings prompt,—
With unimaginable rage they fire
The wretch,—fierce,—roaring madness; that would rend
Himself—the world—the heavens,—and gloat on blood,
And laugh at torments.

They had left their door,
And stagger'd to the street,—and turn'd again
To look on their grey sire, where, like a form
By cunning chisel from the marble wrought,
He sat amazed and motionless,—when lo!—
Red glowing like a ruby, from the sky
A ponderous rock descends:—they see it sink
Through the strong roof:—the mighty oaken beams
Snap like burnt twigs:—they see a light within;—
They hear a crash—a jar:—the walls go down
In blaze and smoke:—they hear the buried rock
Burning below:—their home is fallen:—their sire
Lies in the wreck. Their senses were wreck'd too;
And down they sat in silence on the earth,
And watch'd the rising flame.

That tender boy
Had ta'en his mother's hand, and griped it hard
Unconsciously:—she, as unconscious sat
And stared upon the sky. One daughter lay
Outstretch'd as if in sleep,—but she was dead;—
And over her the sister lean'd, and told
In whispers of a horrid dream she dreamt;
And begg'd her not to sleep lest she should dream:
Anon she started upright on her feet:
Look'd wildly round—and tip-toe walking, stole,
With finger on her lip and head turn'd back,
As though she fear'd that in the direful roar
And ruin round her foot-tread might betray
And thwart the end she ponder'd,—till she reach'd
The burning building:—lightly then she sprung
With a short laugh of triumph in the flames,
And soon was still.

Did then the parents shriek,
And tear their hair,—and call on death to end
Their miseries? No—they sat in quietness,
As though the deed concern'd not them, nor call'd
For pity or amazement.

Screaming shrill,
That tender boy next backward fell to earth,
With every limb outstretch'd and stiff;—his eyes
Wide glaring—and his face distorted strange.
Awhile he shriek'd—then quiver'd—and expired.

A momentary pang his mother seem'd
To feel;—for she turn'd round, and look'd intent
On his black face, like one who dreads some ill
Impending, or perhaps already fallen, but where,
Or how—or whence—unknown. His slacken'd hand
She took again at length,—and, as before,
Sunk in a stupid silence.

By her side,
With elbows propp'd upon his knees,—and cheeks
Pillow'd upon his hands,—the father sat
Like one in some sequester'd spot deep wrapt
In day dreams,—whom no sound of voice, or step
Of human thing intrusive, may disturb
In his lone musings:—but he did not muse:—
His mind was dark and vacant:—he beheld
Things as he saw them not:—his very soul
Was blank and feelingless. His only boy—
His daughters, dearer than his life belov'd,
Unmov'd he saw expire:—and now, alas!
Their mother he beholds in frenzied mood
Stand over him, with threats and curses deep
Vow'd on his head: but he regarded not:—
Fiercely she struck him in her rage, and dragg'd
The hairs from his bow'd head:—but he was mute.
Then, yelling, from the earth she snatch'd her boy
And bore him off:—her eyes seem'd burning coals:—
Her hair dishevell'd stream'd around:—she foam'd
And grinn'd—a raging maniac.—Striding wide,
She hurried on her way;—now to her breast
The corpse hard hugging:—now along the ground
She dragg'd him by his flaxen hair, and struck
His tender head against the stony way:—
Then stopp'd a moment,—silent;—snatch'd again
The batter'd body to her arms:—imprest
Fast, burning kisses on his lips and brow:—
Look'd for an instant on the horrid sky;—
Yell'd—shriek'd—and strode along.—

Her miseries
Now found a pause:—beneath her weary feet
The earth rock'd giddily:—she stagger'd—ran;—
Beneath the load she bore with force driven on,
Head foremost to the ground fell:—the spinal bone
Snapp'd short—and she was dead.—

But there sat he,
The wretched husband of this wretched wife—
The woful father of that family
Of woe;—there quietly he sat, and look'd
Or seem'd to look, on what befell,—nor spake—
Nor wept—nor aught appear'd to know:—and there
He might have staid till, slowly sinking down,
Nature oppress'd had yielded up the strife;—
But,—drifting furiously before the wind,—
An ashy shower came like a mighty wave,
And whelm'd him in its suffocating depths.
High o'er his head it piled,—round and around
Tost in a whirlwind,—that another course
Soon shaped,—and left exposed the grinning corse—
Shrivell'd—and shrunk—and black.—

One man there was,
A noble of the city, and approved
For wisdom, who in frenzy of his brain
Had back'd his swiftest horse;—saddle nor rein
He had,—and useless had they been to guide
A courser frantic as his madman lord:—
His head was bare;—behind his shoulders stream'd
A mantle of deep black,—and with one hand
He held against his mouth a hunting horn,
On which he blew incessant.—Not a tone
Could reach his ear amid the uproar round,
Yet still, with cheek distended and red eye,
He wound the blast. Swift as the tempest flew,
With mane erect, and rolling eyes of fire,
And crimson nostril spread,—the ebon steed:—
O'er dead and living bounded he along:—
O'er burning ruins and o'er blacken'd streams
Vaulted;—and still the rider blew his horn
And kept his dangerous seat.—The lightning fell
At the horse's feet,—but, snorting, he sped on;—
The blazing building thunder'd on the earth;—
The burning rock flew roaring o'er his head;—
But still right on he went.—Another flash
Quivers upon the brazen hunting horn;—
The rider sprawls on earth;—the steed is blind—
Yet wildly rushes forward;—till, dash'd full
Against a fallen column, high in air
Spouts the red blood—the brains fly scattering round;
And down he sinks dead,—heavy as a clod.—

All seem'd to covet death. With arms wide spread
As to a friend's embrace, crowds headlong rush'd
Into the boiling sea:—and as the waves
Threw them again upon the sands, they rose,
And, looking back upon the fiery plague,
And the red heavens, and reeling city, ran
Shrieking and wildly laughing back again,
Plunging and struggling to be gone. See! see!
From yon high cliff they leap:—man hurries man:—
One pushes down a loiterer on the brink,
Then casts himself head-foremost, as he fear'd
To fall too late. None stays to bid farewell
To brother, parent, husband, sister, wife;—
They rush like furious dogs upon the chace,—
And death their game.

Look where yon mother drags
Along the beach her little son:—a babe
Lies at her breast convulsed. Her bright, wild eye
Tells of despair,—insanity:—she seeks
Death, her sole refuge:—yet a mother's love
Lives after reason's wreck. She stops, and looks
Now on the heavy-rolling deep,—and now
Upon her helpless little ones. She hears
The roaring mountain now—and rending earth—
Sky-bursting thunders—and the fearful rush
Of fiery rocks;—and, cowering, hastens on
For shelter to the waves:—but then she hears,
As on its marge she sudden stops, the voice
Of the perturb'd unfathomable deep;—
Th' expiring cry of some who struggling sink
Into the dark abyss:—and mid the foam
Sees rocking carcases,—and ugly shapes
Of ocean monsters, from their beds obscene
Torn by th' upheaving billows to the day:—
And gleaming, anguish'd eyes she marks at times
Peering among the watery hills, of men
Who sought death there—yet were afraid to die:
And she too fear'd,—and hugg'd her little-ones
Hard in her arms, and look'd with anxious face
At that terrific firmament—that hill
Of flame—that rack'd and groaning ground—that sea
With its appalling sights and sounds;—nor knew
Or how to live—or which way she should die:—
But fate decides the struggle;—and the waves,
Rising at once like a huge wall, come on
And wash her back, with hundreds who were nigh,
To the dark deep.—

One in the city brought
His chariot forth,—and madly deem'd the steeds
Would know their master's hand, and bear him far
From this accursed region;—so he leap'd
Swiftly into the seat, while, shrinking back,
Trembling and dropping sweat from every pore,
The horses paused an instant. Then he laugh'd
As though the feat were done, and all secure:—
But when he wish'd to whirl the thong, and seize
The ruling reins,—unhappy wretch!—he found
No reins, no scourge had he;—and down to earth
He would have sprung;—but o'er the courser's heads
A bulky red rock flew, roaring along
Like cataract, when its tumbled waters boil,
And heave, and foam in their deep bed below:—
So close it pass'd above—their bristling manes
Crackled and smoked. As follows on the flash
The thunder-peal, so sudden sprung the steeds
On their delirious course. The wheels plough deep;—
The ashes whirl around as though the car
Drove on through waters:—heavy is the road,
But mighty are the horses—and terror
Has made their nerves like steel. On—on—they urge;
The rider shrieks—and throws his arms aloft—
His hair streams in the wind.—No pause, no check,
The madden'd coursers know:—bounds up and down,
From side to side, the car:—now on two wheels
Balanced—it runs;—the others whirl on high:—
Now they descend—and now again a shock
Tosses aloft the chariot from the ground;—
Swift through the air it spins, like Juno's car
Smooth gliding, noiseless, through the sky,—then lights
On earth again, rebounding as it falls;—
But ever on it flies.—The town is left
Behind their rustling wheels:—the hill is long,
And steep th' ascent;—but as the rein-deer skims
The light sledge on the flat and glassy ice,
So the strong horses through the ashy bed
And 'gainst the hill whirl on the ponderous car.—
They reach the level top:—along the ridge
Straight tow'rds the sea they rush:—Oh! turn aside,
Ye fury steeds, from your insensate course!—
The cliffs are high—the ocean foams below:—
Will not the wide black torrent make you pause?—
Will not the driving fire shower on your flanks?
Will not the hailing rocks—the hissing bolts—
Divert your headlong track?—No!—on—still on—
Right tow'rds the sea they urge.—A meteor huge
As the full rounded moon, before their eyes
Bowls on—and round the beetling cliff shakes out
Thick corruscations:—yet they turn not back—
Nor swerve aside.—Oh! will no merciful flash
Strike the mad horses dead—or ere they plunge
Down that dire gulf!—As if along the edge
Of some big cloud the chariot rode through air,
So high on the black mountain's lofty rim
It look'd;—thick clouds of deepest dye behind
Threw out the splendid chariot to the view,
As though on the black sky it painted were
In gold and burning sunshine:—the bright brass
Of the rich harness glittered:—flash'd along
The viewless spokes:—The carvings rare gleam'd out:—
The white steeds stood like whitest marble forth
From out a bed of jet:—their manes stream'd up
From their strong circling necks;—their mouths were foam;—
Their very eyes were seen to roll, and throw
Red flames,—such brightness on them shone
From the unceasing lightnings.

Yet some space
Between them and the awful steep there lies;—
Perchance they yet may turn:—the rider sits
Stiffen'd with terror:—with both hands he grasps
The car:—his face is deathy pale:—he shrieks:—
On—on—the horses fly. But see! a flash
Plays round the chariot wheels:—the rider sinks
Backward upon the seat;—loose rolls his head;—
His hanging arm swings helpless o'er the side:—
Thank Heaven! he dies!—but, all unharm'd, the steeds
Rush on:—that flash has fired the car:—the flames
Stream in the blast:—it seems day's chariot bright,
As poets feign, hot blazing through the sky,
Drawn by the steeds of fire.—On—on—they press;—
Fast tow'rds the brink they come:—so deep below
The ocean lies, that on a stilly day
Its murmurings scarce can climb the dizzy height:—
They reach the edge—they look not at th' abyss—
Right o'er they leap:—they sink—and paw the air:—
Down—down they fall:—the chariot flames behind:—
The wheels upon the axles glittering spin:—
The lifeless driver headlong tumbles out,—
Round and around with swinging limbs rolling:—
Still down they sink—scarce midway in their course;—
The horses still, as though they spurn'd the earth,
Throw out their sinewy legs:—another bolt,
Far streaming through the sky,—flashing blue flames,
Strikes on them falling;—and the milk-white steeds
A moment after in the waters dash
Lifeless and scorch'd.—Thè chariot, hissing, sinks;—
With sullen plash the dead man strikes the sea:—
The waves roll over them;—their course is done.