 | The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield |  |
A wandering sound of wailing agony,
A cry of coming horror o'er the street
Of Tombs arose, and all the lurid air
Echoed the shrieks of hopelessness and death.
Then through the gates and o'er the city rushed
A ghastly multitude, naked and black
With sulphur fumes and spotted o'er with marl
That clung unto the agonizing flesh
Like a wronged orphan's curse. In terror blind,
They rushed, in dreadful companies, along
The quaking earth, 'neath darkened heavens, and e'er
Their awful voices howled the horrors forth.
“Destroyed! wrecked in its beauty—all destroyed!
Billows of lava boil above the towers
Of Herculaneum! we alone are left!
The lovely city! all our happy homes!
Buried in blackness 'neath a sea of fire!
The deluge came along the shattering rocks—
We fled and met another—yet again
We turned dismayed and a third fiery flood
Came down in ruin's grandeur on our path!
Between the mountain and the sea we scaped.
Oh, many a corse beneath the depths hath sunk
In seas of fire, that o'er our city roll,
Boiling in deeps of blackness! on!—away!
What fated madness holds the death-games now?
Pompeii! fly, the Fates delay not here!”
Down to the dark convulsive sea they rushed,
O'er them the volcano, and beneath,
The earthquake, and around, ruin and death.
A cry of coming horror o'er the street
Of Tombs arose, and all the lurid air
Echoed the shrieks of hopelessness and death.
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A ghastly multitude, naked and black
With sulphur fumes and spotted o'er with marl
That clung unto the agonizing flesh
Like a wronged orphan's curse. In terror blind,
They rushed, in dreadful companies, along
The quaking earth, 'neath darkened heavens, and e'er
Their awful voices howled the horrors forth.
“Destroyed! wrecked in its beauty—all destroyed!
Billows of lava boil above the towers
Of Herculaneum! we alone are left!
The lovely city! all our happy homes!
Buried in blackness 'neath a sea of fire!
The deluge came along the shattering rocks—
We fled and met another—yet again
We turned dismayed and a third fiery flood
Came down in ruin's grandeur on our path!
Between the mountain and the sea we scaped.
Oh, many a corse beneath the depths hath sunk
In seas of fire, that o'er our city roll,
Boiling in deeps of blackness! on!—away!
What fated madness holds the death-games now?
Pompeii! fly, the Fates delay not here!”
Down to the dark convulsive sea they rushed,
O'er them the volcano, and beneath,
The earthquake, and around, ruin and death.
| The poems and prose writings of Sumner Lincoln Fairfield | |