 | The last night of Pompeii |  |
183
THIRD VOICE.
Who bids us sink resigned?
Who bids us bless the Slayer?
And mid the storm of ruin, blind,
Scorched—blasted—dying—breathe again the spurned-back prayer?
Let the Creator in his vengeance take
The life he heaped on men—
No sigh—no voice—no tear shall slake
The almighty hatred that could thus condemn!
He made us but to die—
To die yet see our city's burial first—
And he shall feast upon no wailing cry
From me:—take what thy wrath has cursed!
I yet have power to hate and scorn the might
That strews the earth with dead in Desolation's night!
Who bids us bless the Slayer?
And mid the storm of ruin, blind,
Scorched—blasted—dying—breathe again the spurned-back prayer?
Let the Creator in his vengeance take
The life he heaped on men—
No sigh—no voice—no tear shall slake
The almighty hatred that could thus condemn!
He made us but to die—
To die yet see our city's burial first—
And he shall feast upon no wailing cry
From me:—take what thy wrath has cursed!
I yet have power to hate and scorn the might
That strews the earth with dead in Desolation's night!
| The last night of Pompeii | |