 | The last night of Pompeii |  |
EPODE.
Reveal the shrine! wave ye the laurel boughs,
Dipped in the fount that purifies the heart!
Unsullied Dian! breathe our holiest vows!
Storm-crowned Poseidon! to the imperial mart
Thou bearst the Median gems,
And loftiest Asian diadems,
And o'er thy billowy world we pour our praise!
Uranian Venus! let the Vesper rays
Dipped in the fount that purifies the heart!
Unsullied Dian! breathe our holiest vows!
Storm-crowned Poseidon! to the imperial mart
Thou bearst the Median gems,
And loftiest Asian diadems,
And o'er thy billowy world we pour our praise!
Uranian Venus! let the Vesper rays
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Of thy beatitude around us float and dwell,
Till thine ethereal loveliness o'ercomes
The stains and shadows of thy mocker here,
And high the vine-god's song may swell
Among the shrines of Vesta's hallowed home
Without a following tear;
And Isis' mystic rites may thrill
The soul with Plato's most celestial vision,
And Pallas in her grandeur fill
The heart of Ceres with her mind elysian!
Blesser with bounty, hail!
What but thy gifts can mortals offer thee?
Smile on the banquet and the song and tale
The Dionysius breathes to thy divinity!
Hail, all ye gods of air, earth, wave and wind!
Ye oceans from the streams of human mind!
With spotless garments and unsandalled feet.
Purified bodies and undaring souls,
We the Pantheon tread! oh, meet,
Meet your adorers! lo! the incense rolls
Along Corinthian columns and wrought roof,
Like Manes wandering o'er the fields of bliss!
Chill not our worship with a stern reproof!
Hail, all ye gods! we worship with a kiss!
Till thine ethereal loveliness o'ercomes
The stains and shadows of thy mocker here,
And high the vine-god's song may swell
Among the shrines of Vesta's hallowed home
Without a following tear;
And Isis' mystic rites may thrill
The soul with Plato's most celestial vision,
And Pallas in her grandeur fill
The heart of Ceres with her mind elysian!
Blesser with bounty, hail!
What but thy gifts can mortals offer thee?
Smile on the banquet and the song and tale
The Dionysius breathes to thy divinity!
Hail, all ye gods of air, earth, wave and wind!
Ye oceans from the streams of human mind!
With spotless garments and unsandalled feet.
Purified bodies and undaring souls,
We the Pantheon tread! oh, meet,
Meet your adorers! lo! the incense rolls
Along Corinthian columns and wrought roof,
Like Manes wandering o'er the fields of bliss!
Chill not our worship with a stern reproof!
Hail, all ye gods! we worship with a kiss!
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Chorus —From shore and sea and vale and mountain,
Hail ye divinities of weal or woe!
Olympus, Ida, grotto, fountain,—
We in your Pantheon kneel—around your altars bow!
Thro' the bronze gates, sculptured with legends feigned
Of the theocrasies, the pageant swept,
A thousand feet dancing the song, and paused
Around the shrines they dragged the victims up.
Then bending from Jove's altar to the east,
The Pontiff raised the golden chalice, crowned
With wine unmingled, and, amid the shower [8]
Of green herbs, myrrh, obelia and vine leaves
Poured out the brimmed libation on the head
Of the awaiting sacrifice, from flocks
Chosen for beauty, and young quickening life.
Then with a laurel branch, he sprinkled all,
Circling the altar thrice; the heralds, then,
Cried, “Who is here?” and all the multitudes
Like billows answered deep, “Many and good!”
“Breathe not the words of omen!” “Lo! we stand
Like Harpocrates in the vestibule!”
The High Priest, mid the wreathing incense, raised
The prayer; the augur, with his wand, marked out
Hail ye divinities of weal or woe!
Olympus, Ida, grotto, fountain,—
We in your Pantheon kneel—around your altars bow!
Thro' the bronze gates, sculptured with legends feigned
Of the theocrasies, the pageant swept,
A thousand feet dancing the song, and paused
Around the shrines they dragged the victims up.
Then bending from Jove's altar to the east,
The Pontiff raised the golden chalice, crowned
With wine unmingled, and, amid the shower [8]
Of green herbs, myrrh, obelia and vine leaves
Poured out the brimmed libation on the head
Of the awaiting sacrifice, from flocks
Chosen for beauty, and young quickening life.
Then with a laurel branch, he sprinkled all,
Circling the altar thrice; the heralds, then,
Cried, “Who is here?” and all the multitudes
Like billows answered deep, “Many and good!”
“Breathe not the words of omen!” “Lo! we stand
Like Harpocrates in the vestibule!”
The High Priest, mid the wreathing incense, raised
The prayer; the augur, with his wand, marked out
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The heavens; the aruspices, with eyes of awe
Behind the slayers of the sacrifice
Stood gazing on the victims. “Hath no spot,
No arrow from the Huntress' bow or dart
Of Pythius stained the offering?” said the priest.
“'Tis fair and perfect, and unblemished stands
To give its body to the Harvest Queen
And all the gods!—We pour into its ear
The holy water—yet it doth not nod!
We bend the neck—it struggles for the flight!
Dismal presages! omens of despair!”
The Pontiff quailed, not in the dread of gods,
(His sole divinity was his own power)
But fear of superstition's evil thought,
As from the fluctuating host arose
A smothered shriek of terror; and, in tones
Quick, stern, and deep as the exploded bolt,
Commanded “Strike! the wrath of Jove attends
The impious delay!” and, hushed as heaven
When broods the hurricane on cloudy deeps,
The worshippers stood trembling as they looked,—
The agonies and ecstasies of fear
And hope, in stormlike glimpses, shadowing o'er
The broken waves of faces—on the shrine,
And saw the axe of the cultrarius fall!
Behind the slayers of the sacrifice
Stood gazing on the victims. “Hath no spot,
No arrow from the Huntress' bow or dart
Of Pythius stained the offering?” said the priest.
“'Tis fair and perfect, and unblemished stands
To give its body to the Harvest Queen
And all the gods!—We pour into its ear
The holy water—yet it doth not nod!
We bend the neck—it struggles for the flight!
Dismal presages! omens of despair!”
The Pontiff quailed, not in the dread of gods,
(His sole divinity was his own power)
But fear of superstition's evil thought,
As from the fluctuating host arose
A smothered shriek of terror; and, in tones
Quick, stern, and deep as the exploded bolt,
Commanded “Strike! the wrath of Jove attends
The impious delay!” and, hushed as heaven
When broods the hurricane on cloudy deeps,
The worshippers stood trembling as they looked,—
The agonies and ecstasies of fear
And hope, in stormlike glimpses, shadowing o'er
The broken waves of faces—on the shrine,
And saw the axe of the cultrarius fall!
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Maddened and bleeding, yet not slain, the ram
Flung back his twisted horns—sent up a sound
Of anguish, and in phrenzy on the air
Springing, in his fierce death throes, fell amidst
Dismayed adorers and gasped out his life.
Shrieks o'er the panting silence rose and filled
The temple, and in horror shrunk the throng,
As o'er the accursed rites pale Nemesis,
Leading the Destinies, had come to blast
The sacrifice with sacrilege; but now
The Pontiff's voice, bidding his lictors quell
The tumult, called another victim up,
And stillness brooded o'er the stricken crowd.
Cashing the lifted neck, the popæ held
The brazen ewers beneath the bubbling blood,
And white-robed flamens bade the people note
The happiest augury—without a sigh
Or tremor, seen or heard, the victim died.
Then flayed and opened they the offering,
Lifting the vitals on their weapons' points.
With writhing brows, pale lips and ashen cheeks,
And failing hearts, in horror's panic voice,
The aruspices proclaimed the prodigies.
“The entrails palpitate—the liver's lobes
Are withered, and the heart hath shrivelled up!”
Flung back his twisted horns—sent up a sound
Of anguish, and in phrenzy on the air
Springing, in his fierce death throes, fell amidst
Dismayed adorers and gasped out his life.
Shrieks o'er the panting silence rose and filled
The temple, and in horror shrunk the throng,
As o'er the accursed rites pale Nemesis,
Leading the Destinies, had come to blast
The sacrifice with sacrilege; but now
The Pontiff's voice, bidding his lictors quell
The tumult, called another victim up,
And stillness brooded o'er the stricken crowd.
Cashing the lifted neck, the popæ held
The brazen ewers beneath the bubbling blood,
And white-robed flamens bade the people note
The happiest augury—without a sigh
Or tremor, seen or heard, the victim died.
Then flayed and opened they the offering,
Lifting the vitals on their weapons' points.
With writhing brows, pale lips and ashen cheeks,
And failing hearts, in horror's panic voice,
The aruspices proclaimed the prodigies.
“The entrails palpitate—the liver's lobes
Are withered, and the heart hath shrivelled up!”
89
Groans rose from living surges round; yet loud
The High Priest uttered—“Lay them on the fire!”
'Twas done; and wine and oil poured amply o'er,
And still the sacrificer wildly cried—
“Woe unto all! the wandering fires hiss up
Through the black vapors—lapping o'er the flesh
They burn not, but abandon! ashes fill
The temple, whirled upon the wind that waves
The flame through smothering clouds, towards the Mount,
That, since first light, hath hurled its lava forth!
Hark! the wild thunder bursts upon the right!
Ravens and vultures past us on the left!
Fly, votaries! from the wrath of heaven, oh fly!
The Vestals shriek, the sacred fire is dead!
The gods deny our prayers! fly to your homes!”
From the Pantheon struggled the vast throng,
And rushed dismayed unto their household hearths,
While from Vesuvius swelled a pyramid
Of smoke streaked o'er with gory flame, and sounds,
Like voices howling curses deep in earth,
From its abysses rose, and ashes fell
Through the thick panting air in burning clouds.
All save the haughty Pontiff, mocking fear,
Had flown the gorgeous Pantheon, but he sate
On the high altar, mid the trophied pomp
The High Priest uttered—“Lay them on the fire!”
'Twas done; and wine and oil poured amply o'er,
And still the sacrificer wildly cried—
“Woe unto all! the wandering fires hiss up
Through the black vapors—lapping o'er the flesh
They burn not, but abandon! ashes fill
The temple, whirled upon the wind that waves
The flame through smothering clouds, towards the Mount,
That, since first light, hath hurled its lava forth!
Hark! the wild thunder bursts upon the right!
Ravens and vultures past us on the left!
Fly, votaries! from the wrath of heaven, oh fly!
The Vestals shriek, the sacred fire is dead!
The gods deny our prayers! fly to your homes!”
From the Pantheon struggled the vast throng,
And rushed dismayed unto their household hearths,
While from Vesuvius swelled a pyramid
Of smoke streaked o'er with gory flame, and sounds,
Like voices howling curses deep in earth,
From its abysses rose, and ashes fell
Through the thick panting air in burning clouds.
All save the haughty Pontiff, mocking fear,
Had flown the gorgeous Pantheon, but he sate
On the high altar, mid the trophied pomp
90
Of priceless consecrations to the gods,
Breathing his scorn and imprecations on
The dastard people and the blasted rites,
When, heaving as on billows, while a moan
Passed o'er the statues, the proud temple swayed
As 'twere an evening cloud, from side to side,
Rocking beneath the earthquake that convulsed
Sea, shore and mountain, at its hollow voice,
Hurled into ruin; and his lips yet glowed
With execrations on the sacrifice,
When from its pedestal, bending with brow
Of vengeance and fixed lips that almost spake,
Jove's giant image fell and crushed to earth
The Thunderer's mocker in his temple home!
Like an earth-shadowing cypress, o'er the skies
Lifting its labyrinth of leaves, the boughs
Of molten brass, the giant trunk of flame,
The breath of the volcano's Titan heart
Hung in the heavens; and every maddened pulse
Of the vast mountain's earthquake bosom hurled
Its vengeance on the earth that gasped beneath.
Yet mortals, then, as now, deemed deities
The essence of men's passions—swayed like leaves,
By orison or chanted hymn, from deeds,
Breathing his scorn and imprecations on
The dastard people and the blasted rites,
When, heaving as on billows, while a moan
Passed o'er the statues, the proud temple swayed
As 'twere an evening cloud, from side to side,
Rocking beneath the earthquake that convulsed
Sea, shore and mountain, at its hollow voice,
Hurled into ruin; and his lips yet glowed
With execrations on the sacrifice,
When from its pedestal, bending with brow
Of vengeance and fixed lips that almost spake,
Jove's giant image fell and crushed to earth
The Thunderer's mocker in his temple home!
Like an earth-shadowing cypress, o'er the skies
Lifting its labyrinth of leaves, the boughs
Of molten brass, the giant trunk of flame,
The breath of the volcano's Titan heart
Hung in the heavens; and every maddened pulse
Of the vast mountain's earthquake bosom hurled
Its vengeance on the earth that gasped beneath.
Yet mortals, then, as now, deemed deities
The essence of men's passions—swayed like leaves,
By orison or chanted hymn, from deeds,
91
Ere time had birth, appointed. So, within
Their secret chambers and the silent groves,
While Ruin's eye from the red living bolt
Glanced with a glare of scorn upon their rites,
The doomed idolaters, abashed yet fain
To win redemption from suspended wrath,
Round their Penates cowered, while magians came,
Sybils and sorcerers, to mock the mind
With mystic divinations, and reveal,
What prophets need not show, folly and guilt.
To avert the threated vengeance, Egypt's spells,
Muttered in sounds the utterer made not speech,
By magic incantations wrought, called up
Earth demons to unfold the future's deeds.
Their secret chambers and the silent groves,
While Ruin's eye from the red living bolt
Glanced with a glare of scorn upon their rites,
The doomed idolaters, abashed yet fain
To win redemption from suspended wrath,
Round their Penates cowered, while magians came,
Sybils and sorcerers, to mock the mind
With mystic divinations, and reveal,
What prophets need not show, folly and guilt.
To avert the threated vengeance, Egypt's spells,
Muttered in sounds the utterer made not speech,
By magic incantations wrought, called up
Earth demons to unfold the future's deeds.
| The last night of Pompeii | |