The Last Days of Herculaneum And Abradates and Panthea: Poems by Edwin Atherstone |
 | THE LAST DAYS
OF
HERCULANEUM;
AND
ABRADATES AND PANTHEA:
POEMS |
 | The Last Days of Herculaneum |  |
THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM; AND ABRADATES AND PANTHEA: POEMS
1
THE LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM.
It was a day of gloom, and strange suspense,
And feverish, and inexplicable dread,
In Herculaneum's walls. The heavy, thick,
And torrid atmosphere; the solid, vast,
And strong-edg'd clouds, that through the firmament
In various and opposing courses moved:—
The wild scream of the solitary bird
That, at long intervals, flew terror-driven
On high:—the howling of the red-ey'd dog
As he gaz'd trembling on the angry heavens:—
The hollow moans that swept along the air,
Though every wind was lock'd,—portended all
That nature with some dire event was big,
And labour'd in its birth.
And feverish, and inexplicable dread,
In Herculaneum's walls. The heavy, thick,
And torrid atmosphere; the solid, vast,
And strong-edg'd clouds, that through the firmament
In various and opposing courses moved:—
The wild scream of the solitary bird
That, at long intervals, flew terror-driven
On high:—the howling of the red-ey'd dog
As he gaz'd trembling on the angry heavens:—
2
Though every wind was lock'd,—portended all
That nature with some dire event was big,
And labour'd in its birth.
The artist's shop
Was closed:—the hammer of the brawny smith
Lay on the anvil:—in the silent streets
The hoof of steed was heard not:—'neath its shed
The whirling car slept on its noiseless wheels.
'Twas silence all, and apprehension dark
And terrible. Who walk'd abroad might hear
From the closed house at times the infant's scream:—
The voice suppress'd of boding fear, like his
Who struggles in an agonizing dream:—
Anon the deep and solemn tones of prayer:—
And then the mingled hum of many tongues
In earnest talk, yet soften'd down as though
They told of murders. From a slow ope'd door
A pale and shrinking figure came at times,
With wild and gleaming eye a moment turn'd
Up to the pitchy firmament:—then back
In haste withdrew, and, with such gentle hand
As his who fears to wake an enemy,
The portal clos'd again.
Was closed:—the hammer of the brawny smith
Lay on the anvil:—in the silent streets
The hoof of steed was heard not:—'neath its shed
The whirling car slept on its noiseless wheels.
'Twas silence all, and apprehension dark
And terrible. Who walk'd abroad might hear
From the closed house at times the infant's scream:—
The voice suppress'd of boding fear, like his
Who struggles in an agonizing dream:—
Anon the deep and solemn tones of prayer:—
And then the mingled hum of many tongues
In earnest talk, yet soften'd down as though
They told of murders. From a slow ope'd door
A pale and shrinking figure came at times,
3
Up to the pitchy firmament:—then back
In haste withdrew, and, with such gentle hand
As his who fears to wake an enemy,
The portal clos'd again.
As day advanced
Sulphureous fumes pervaded all the air:
Far distant sounds, scarce audible, came on
As of the bursting of a mighty flame;—
And deep beneath the ground some said they heard
A noise like that of many pond'rous cars
In fierce career;—or like the boom and rush
Of floods contending.—
Sulphureous fumes pervaded all the air:
Far distant sounds, scarce audible, came on
As of the bursting of a mighty flame;—
And deep beneath the ground some said they heard
A noise like that of many pond'rous cars
In fierce career;—or like the boom and rush
Of floods contending.—
Here and there a group
With fear-mark'd faces stood,—who all aghast
Gazed on the awful sky, and whispering told
Their terrors;—for 'twas said a pine-tree huge
Had been beheld on high Vesuvius' top
That branch'd into the heavens:—and some had seen
Grim spectres giant-sized, that to and fro
Glided upon the mountain's summit dim,
Or walk'd unsinking on the obscure air.
Some on the dusky ocean had descried
Strange shadowy shapes; and some had heard the waves
Loud dashing in mid-sea,—though not a breeze
Fann'd their hot brows.—Some in the terrible sky
Had imaged forth appalling forms;—a god
They saw, huge as an Alpine hill, who rode
Half hidden on a throne of clouds, and breathed
Red vapours from his nostrils:—and his eyes
Glared like two suns of blood through mist. One saw,
Down bending from the sky distinct, a face
Horrific;—black as tenfold night;—severe,
But calm it look'd with steadfast gaze to earth,
And eyes that never closed, though all around
A thousand fires unintermitting play'd.
With fear-mark'd faces stood,—who all aghast
Gazed on the awful sky, and whispering told
Their terrors;—for 'twas said a pine-tree huge
Had been beheld on high Vesuvius' top
4
Grim spectres giant-sized, that to and fro
Glided upon the mountain's summit dim,
Or walk'd unsinking on the obscure air.
Some on the dusky ocean had descried
Strange shadowy shapes; and some had heard the waves
Loud dashing in mid-sea,—though not a breeze
Fann'd their hot brows.—Some in the terrible sky
Had imaged forth appalling forms;—a god
They saw, huge as an Alpine hill, who rode
Half hidden on a throne of clouds, and breathed
Red vapours from his nostrils:—and his eyes
Glared like two suns of blood through mist. One saw,
Down bending from the sky distinct, a face
Horrific;—black as tenfold night;—severe,
But calm it look'd with steadfast gaze to earth,
And eyes that never closed, though all around
A thousand fires unintermitting play'd.
Terror was over all men:—what to fear
They scarcely knew:—yet to the stoutest heart
The panic shudderings crept; and in the brain
Of wisest man work'd dire imaginings
And shapeless horrors. Night was closing in
With heavy shades ere yet the sun went down;—
When, lo! the earth was shaken to its base;
And the loud roaring, smother'd and profound,
Of subterranean thunders fill'd the air.
Down from the roofs the rattling ruins fell:—
The strong foundations shook:—the mighty domes
Heav'd to and fro:—the lofty columns rock'd.
Then swell'd the shrieks of terror:—in the streets
Rush'd suddenly, as though the graves had given
Their ghastly tenants forth, thick multitudes
Of yelling wretches, pale and horror struck:—
A livid light seem'd streaming from their eyes:
Some cower'd, and shrunk, and fell upon the earth:
Some shouted as in rage;—and some with tears
Big rolling down their marble cheeks, stood stiff
And paralyzed. All shapes that horror stamps
On man in face or gesture might be seen.
Here one, to madness work'd, his hard clench'd hands
Threw out tow'rds heaven,—with flashing, rolling eyes
Brow harshly furrow'd;—bared and gnashing teeth,
And nostril spread, as though in maniac rage
To threat the Thunderer. Upon their knees,
With upward pointed hands, these pray'd aloud;
And those, as if intoxicated, reel'd
And stumbled on. Some struck their dearest friends,
But grasp'd their enemy close:—some wail'd aloud;
Beat on their breasts—and tore their hair away,—
And wrung their hands; then wept and wail'd again.
Convulsed with ceaseless laughter, others fell
Backward upon the ground;—and some there were,
By terror as by lightning kill'd, stretch'd out
Upon the earth: while by the tottering walls
Supported, others sat, stiffen'd and dead,
With jaw depress'd, and ghastly open eye,
Upon the startled gazer glaring grim.
5
The panic shudderings crept; and in the brain
Of wisest man work'd dire imaginings
And shapeless horrors. Night was closing in
With heavy shades ere yet the sun went down;—
When, lo! the earth was shaken to its base;
And the loud roaring, smother'd and profound,
Of subterranean thunders fill'd the air.
Down from the roofs the rattling ruins fell:—
The strong foundations shook:—the mighty domes
Heav'd to and fro:—the lofty columns rock'd.
Then swell'd the shrieks of terror:—in the streets
Rush'd suddenly, as though the graves had given
Their ghastly tenants forth, thick multitudes
Of yelling wretches, pale and horror struck:—
A livid light seem'd streaming from their eyes:
Some cower'd, and shrunk, and fell upon the earth:
Some shouted as in rage;—and some with tears
Big rolling down their marble cheeks, stood stiff
And paralyzed. All shapes that horror stamps
6
Here one, to madness work'd, his hard clench'd hands
Threw out tow'rds heaven,—with flashing, rolling eyes
Brow harshly furrow'd;—bared and gnashing teeth,
And nostril spread, as though in maniac rage
To threat the Thunderer. Upon their knees,
With upward pointed hands, these pray'd aloud;
And those, as if intoxicated, reel'd
And stumbled on. Some struck their dearest friends,
But grasp'd their enemy close:—some wail'd aloud;
Beat on their breasts—and tore their hair away,—
And wrung their hands; then wept and wail'd again.
Convulsed with ceaseless laughter, others fell
Backward upon the ground;—and some there were,
By terror as by lightning kill'd, stretch'd out
Upon the earth: while by the tottering walls
Supported, others sat, stiffen'd and dead,
With jaw depress'd, and ghastly open eye,
Upon the startled gazer glaring grim.
7
The earth again was still:—the thunders died:—
The sounds of lamentation and of fear
Subsided slowly to a gloomy hush.
Each where he stood remain'd:—the mother hugg'd
Her infant to her breast:—the father grasp'd
The trembling hand of his beloved child:—
Fast in the lover's arm the shrinking maid
Was folded. Dreadful expectation hung,
And silence over all. A thousand eyes
Were anxious fix'd upon the lowering sky,
Whose massive, rocky, and red margin'd clouds,
Rank piled o'er rank, had ceased their wandering course,
And over that devoted city now,
Like armies concentrating for attack,
Were settling slow.
The sounds of lamentation and of fear
Subsided slowly to a gloomy hush.
Each where he stood remain'd:—the mother hugg'd
Her infant to her breast:—the father grasp'd
The trembling hand of his beloved child:—
Fast in the lover's arm the shrinking maid
Was folded. Dreadful expectation hung,
And silence over all. A thousand eyes
Were anxious fix'd upon the lowering sky,
Whose massive, rocky, and red margin'd clouds,
Rank piled o'er rank, had ceased their wandering course,
And over that devoted city now,
Like armies concentrating for attack,
Were settling slow.
Within a spacious square
A little group there was, who on their knees
And with declined heads sent prayers to heaven.—
To those at distance placed,—even through the dense,
Dim atmosphere, distinctly visible
Were they;—for round them shone a pallid flame;
And from their heads it pointed to the sky:—
Right over them from a dark cloud there came
A point of misty light; as when the sun
Shoots through the watery clouds a slanting ray
Obscure: they who look'd on it heard, they said,
Or thought they heard, a hissing as of snakes,
Or like the sound that through the withering leaves
Autumnal, wake the breezes as they pass.
Not long they look'd,—for thro' the thick, dark air
Glanced the red thunder-bolt with light intense
That smote who saw with blindness. Earth and heaven
Rock'd with the bursting thunders:—to their base
Shook the strong temples, and the lofty towers.
A little group there was, who on their knees
And with declined heads sent prayers to heaven.—
To those at distance placed,—even through the dense,
8
Were they;—for round them shone a pallid flame;
And from their heads it pointed to the sky:—
Right over them from a dark cloud there came
A point of misty light; as when the sun
Shoots through the watery clouds a slanting ray
Obscure: they who look'd on it heard, they said,
Or thought they heard, a hissing as of snakes,
Or like the sound that through the withering leaves
Autumnal, wake the breezes as they pass.
Not long they look'd,—for thro' the thick, dark air
Glanced the red thunder-bolt with light intense
That smote who saw with blindness. Earth and heaven
Rock'd with the bursting thunders:—to their base
Shook the strong temples, and the lofty towers.
On that devoted group the bolt had fallen:—
And when, recovering sense, the people turn'd
To look again upon them, they beheld
No sign of man,—but on the earth there lay
A heap of whiten'd ashes.
And when, recovering sense, the people turn'd
To look again upon them, they beheld
No sign of man,—but on the earth there lay
A heap of whiten'd ashes.
9
Sunk again
The thunder's roar:—and gloomy silence came
Once more upon them. Trembling, to their homes
The citizens return'd. Darkness intense
Soon cover'd all things;—and the close, hot air,
Felt suffocating. Some who linger'd still,
Or ere retiring to their sleepless beds,
Look'd out into the night, saw on the sky,
Tow'rds where Vesuvius rear'd his giant head,
A crimson tinge:—and in the stilly air
The deep and soften'd thunder-mutterings heard.
The thunder's roar:—and gloomy silence came
Once more upon them. Trembling, to their homes
The citizens return'd. Darkness intense
Soon cover'd all things;—and the close, hot air,
Felt suffocating. Some who linger'd still,
Or ere retiring to their sleepless beds,
Look'd out into the night, saw on the sky,
Tow'rds where Vesuvius rear'd his giant head,
A crimson tinge:—and in the stilly air
The deep and soften'd thunder-mutterings heard.
10
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!
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?
11
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?
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?
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.
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—
12
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.
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.
Drag on the hours: a year of common life
13
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.
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?
That fall with gentlest touch upon the ear,
Yet seem to fill the heavens—and reach earth's centre?
14
'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.—
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.—
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?
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?
15
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!
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
16
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
17
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.
—In that dense sea above of vapour, fire,
Darkness, and storms—his morning splendour slept,
18
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.
19
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.—
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.
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!”
“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—
20
“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.
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!—
What language can express, the agonies—
The horrors of that hour! An earth beneath
21
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.
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;
22
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.
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.
23
'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.—
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,
24
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
25
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—
26
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.—
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,—
27
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.—
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
28
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 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,
29
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.
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
30
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.—
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,—
31
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!—
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!
32
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.—
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,
33
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.—
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
34
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.—
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,
35
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.
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.
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
36
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.
37
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.
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.—
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
38
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
39
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.
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.
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
40
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
41
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.
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
42
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.
43
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 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
44
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.—
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.
Of that first day of darkness and amaze
He came. The iron door was closed,—for them
45
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
46
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.
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.
47
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.—
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!
48
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.
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
49
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.
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.
50
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.
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.
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—
51
To lie when sleeping—and resign'd awaits
Undreaded death.
And death came soon, and swift,
And pangless.
And pangless.
The huge pile sunk down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls—arches—roof—
And deep foundation stones—all mingling fell!—
Into the opening earth. Walls—arches—roof—
And deep foundation stones—all mingling fell!—
52
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.
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
53
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.
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
54
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,
55
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.
56
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.—
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.—
Vesuvius for a moment to the eye
57
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.
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
58
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.
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,
59
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.—
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.—
60
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.—
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:—
61
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.—
Perfect as beauty's goddess,—with her locks
62
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.
His wife,—two blooming daughters,—and a son,—
63
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.
And stagger'd to the street,—and turn'd again
64
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.
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
65
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.
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.
That tender boy next backward fell to earth,
66
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.
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.—
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
67
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:—
68
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.—
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.—
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,
69
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.—
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,
70
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.
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,
71
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.—
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
72
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:—
73
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.
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:—
74
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
75
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
76
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.
Between them and the awful steep there lies;—
Perchance they yet may turn:—the rider sits
77
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:—
78
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.
79
Meanwhile, still gathering fury, raged the storm;
The winds rush'd through the city with the force
Of mountain billows in a hurricane:—
Down smote the crimson showers of burning coals;—
Then up again on the resistless blast
High as the clouds they flew—and round and round
Wheel'd—fell—and rose—and dash'd on earth again,
Swift as the stroke of lightning:—with them mix'd
Huge rolling waves of smoke intensely black
And clouds of ashes.—Carcases of men—
Masses of blazing timber—trees entire
Torn from their roots, were tossing in the air
Like chaff.—It seem'd as though the globe itself
With one terrific whirlwind were convulsed,—
And this the centre of the horrid wheel.
The winds rush'd through the city with the force
Of mountain billows in a hurricane:—
Down smote the crimson showers of burning coals;—
Then up again on the resistless blast
High as the clouds they flew—and round and round
Wheel'd—fell—and rose—and dash'd on earth again,
Swift as the stroke of lightning:—with them mix'd
Huge rolling waves of smoke intensely black
And clouds of ashes.—Carcases of men—
Masses of blazing timber—trees entire
Torn from their roots, were tossing in the air
Like chaff.—It seem'd as though the globe itself
With one terrific whirlwind were convulsed,—
And this the centre of the horrid wheel.
The closing hour is nigh:—like dying man
More fiercely struggling at his latest gasp,—
The earthquake—and the storm—and fiery hill,
With fury tenfold raged:—the thunders roll'd
As though the very vault of heaven would burst:—
The earth groan'd to its centre:—direful chasms,
Night-black and fathomless, open'd and shut—
And gaped again—and swallow'd in their jaws
Houses and living men—and heaps of dead—
And palaces and streets entire. Deep down
In the black gulf they sunk:—the crashing earth
Knit to again and crumbled them to dust.—
The city like a forest in a storm
Waved to and fro:—opposing houses struck—
And shiver'd—and fell down.—The temple huge
Of Jupiter the Thunderer, whose walls
Of strength immense and deep foundations stood
Unharm'd till now,—fix'd as some Alpine hill
That from eternity has been—and seems
Destined to all eternity to be—
See! to and fro it heaves:—the mighty dome,
Like cedar's top beneath a raging wind,
Swings heavy through the air:—the thick walls crack—
Open—and close—and open wide again:—
Down—down it thunders:—headlong down to earth
The ponderous fabric, crashing—grinding falls—
Making itself an earthquake—and a din
That mates the thunder.—
More fiercely struggling at his latest gasp,—
The earthquake—and the storm—and fiery hill,
With fury tenfold raged:—the thunders roll'd
80
The earth groan'd to its centre:—direful chasms,
Night-black and fathomless, open'd and shut—
And gaped again—and swallow'd in their jaws
Houses and living men—and heaps of dead—
And palaces and streets entire. Deep down
In the black gulf they sunk:—the crashing earth
Knit to again and crumbled them to dust.—
The city like a forest in a storm
Waved to and fro:—opposing houses struck—
And shiver'd—and fell down.—The temple huge
Of Jupiter the Thunderer, whose walls
Of strength immense and deep foundations stood
Unharm'd till now,—fix'd as some Alpine hill
That from eternity has been—and seems
Destined to all eternity to be—
See! to and fro it heaves:—the mighty dome,
Like cedar's top beneath a raging wind,
Swings heavy through the air:—the thick walls crack—
Open—and close—and open wide again:—
81
The ponderous fabric, crashing—grinding falls—
Making itself an earthquake—and a din
That mates the thunder.—
But o'er all distinct,—
The groans of earth—the bellowings of the sky—
The whirlwind's howl—the rush of burning rocks—
The whirring of the fiery shower—the crash
Of thousand ruins near—o'er every sound
Raising its hideous and undying voice,
Vesuvius from its hollow crater roar'd;—
A noise of thunders mix'd, and rushing floods—
Tempests—and worlds on fire—and oceans vast
Boiling like cauldrons!—Never ceased its din;—
Seem'd as the eternal fires that live within
The hollow womb of earth,—huge as appears
To mortal eye the cavity of heaven,—
Had from its mouth as from a trumpet breathed
Their aggregated roarings.—All the air
Seem'd only sound—dense—solid sound, that like
The depth of Egypt's darkness might be felt:—
With stunning force, as of a mighty blow,
It struck upon the ear that men fell down
And died, who heard it.—Trees, and streams, and hills,
Ev'n when the earthquake paused, were quivering still
Beneath its dire concussions, and the dome
Of heaven itself seem'd lifted up and down
By that terrific uproar.—Distant lands
Heard it and shudder'd—and gave thanks to God
That they themselves were safe. On Afric's coast
Far distant over lands and ocean wide
The Moorish mother started from her sleep,
And hush'd her frighted babe, and blest the name
Of Allah as she listen'd to the sound.
The groans of earth—the bellowings of the sky—
The whirlwind's howl—the rush of burning rocks—
The whirring of the fiery shower—the crash
Of thousand ruins near—o'er every sound
Raising its hideous and undying voice,
Vesuvius from its hollow crater roar'd;—
A noise of thunders mix'd, and rushing floods—
Tempests—and worlds on fire—and oceans vast
Boiling like cauldrons!—Never ceased its din;—
Seem'd as the eternal fires that live within
The hollow womb of earth,—huge as appears
To mortal eye the cavity of heaven,—
Had from its mouth as from a trumpet breathed
Their aggregated roarings.—All the air
82
The depth of Egypt's darkness might be felt:—
With stunning force, as of a mighty blow,
It struck upon the ear that men fell down
And died, who heard it.—Trees, and streams, and hills,
Ev'n when the earthquake paused, were quivering still
Beneath its dire concussions, and the dome
Of heaven itself seem'd lifted up and down
By that terrific uproar.—Distant lands
Heard it and shudder'd—and gave thanks to God
That they themselves were safe. On Afric's coast
Far distant over lands and ocean wide
The Moorish mother started from her sleep,
And hush'd her frighted babe, and blest the name
Of Allah as she listen'd to the sound.
Now like a mighty river when with rains
Surcharged it swells above its banks, and makes
New channels for its fury,—rolling on
Its heavy waves of liquid fire, came down
The all-destroying lava. Like the hiss
Of million angry serpents was the sound
That went before it as the reeking earth,—
The rain-streams, and whate'er of moist was near,
Dried sudden up. The clear red torrent look'd
Like molten iron from the furnace mouth
Pouring;—but such in bulk as if all earth
Her mines had emptied—and in the vast fires
Of hell their mingled metals had been cast,—
And thence from its wide jaws, in such hot flood
Spew'd forth again.—The tumbling of its waves
Was like the rush of ocean, with deep moans
Of thunder mix'd,—and the loud jar and shake
Of countless armies,—and ten thousand cars
Of iron fiercely rolling.—Not like stream
From o'ergorged river, shallow at the first
And gently deep'ning as the floods descend,
But high in air its horrid ridge came on,
Abrupt—like billow rushing to the shore
In a strong tempest;—or as when the deeps
Roll'd back, and stood like walls for Israel's host
To pass the Red Sea's bed.
Surcharged it swells above its banks, and makes
New channels for its fury,—rolling on
Its heavy waves of liquid fire, came down
83
Of million angry serpents was the sound
That went before it as the reeking earth,—
The rain-streams, and whate'er of moist was near,
Dried sudden up. The clear red torrent look'd
Like molten iron from the furnace mouth
Pouring;—but such in bulk as if all earth
Her mines had emptied—and in the vast fires
Of hell their mingled metals had been cast,—
And thence from its wide jaws, in such hot flood
Spew'd forth again.—The tumbling of its waves
Was like the rush of ocean, with deep moans
Of thunder mix'd,—and the loud jar and shake
Of countless armies,—and ten thousand cars
Of iron fiercely rolling.—Not like stream
From o'ergorged river, shallow at the first
And gently deep'ning as the floods descend,
But high in air its horrid ridge came on,
Abrupt—like billow rushing to the shore
In a strong tempest;—or as when the deeps
84
To pass the Red Sea's bed.
At its approach
The earth shook:—rocks split open and fell in,
Melting like snow that sinks into the brook:—
Green trees were turn'd to cinder at its touch:—
Houses and streets to liquid fire were changed
And swell'd the dreadful tide:—the air above
Seem'd melting too, and glow'd with fervent heat
Like the terrific atmosphere of hell.—
Onward it moves;—o'er half the city sweeps;—
O'er mighty towers—and battled walls—and holds
Of strength, flows easy as the swelling wave
Above the sea shore pebbles.
The earth shook:—rocks split open and fell in,
Melting like snow that sinks into the brook:—
Green trees were turn'd to cinder at its touch:—
Houses and streets to liquid fire were changed
And swell'd the dreadful tide:—the air above
Seem'd melting too, and glow'd with fervent heat
Like the terrific atmosphere of hell.—
Onward it moves;—o'er half the city sweeps;—
O'er mighty towers—and battled walls—and holds
Of strength, flows easy as the swelling wave
Above the sea shore pebbles.
Shriek nor groan
Arose at its approach,—for there was none
That saw—or heard—or felt it;—all were dead;—
With such destructive fury late the storm
Of lightning and of wind had raged;—so thick
The labouring earth had shook the ruins down;—
So suffocating blew the scorching air.
Close as along some heath that peasants fire
At night, the curling flames ascend,—so fell
The streaming flashes, as if heaven had sent
A shower of fire for rain:—ten thousand bolts
Fell every instant, battling through the air
Like sun-rays divers glinting from the facel
Of restless waters.
Arose at its approach,—for there was none
That saw—or heard—or felt it;—all were dead;—
With such destructive fury late the storm
85
The labouring earth had shook the ruins down;—
So suffocating blew the scorching air.
Close as along some heath that peasants fire
At night, the curling flames ascend,—so fell
The streaming flashes, as if heaven had sent
A shower of fire for rain:—ten thousand bolts
Fell every instant, battling through the air
Like sun-rays divers glinting from the facel
Of restless waters.
Through the city now
The fire-flood goes, and in a cataract huge
From the steep rocks pours down into the sea.—
Right o'er, with sweep tremendous, the red stream
Launches into the deep:—the deep shrinks back
Hissing and roaring—steaming to the skies—
Seething like hottest cauldron:—flashing up
Torrents of boiling brine, and darkening all
With clouds of densest mist. Again the waves
Return;—again the fiery cataract meets
And drives it bellowing back.—
The fire-flood goes, and in a cataract huge
From the steep rocks pours down into the sea.—
Right o'er, with sweep tremendous, the red stream
Launches into the deep:—the deep shrinks back
Hissing and roaring—steaming to the skies—
Seething like hottest cauldron:—flashing up
Torrents of boiling brine, and darkening all
With clouds of densest mist. Again the waves
86
And drives it bellowing back.—
But look! the earth
In its last pang seems quaking:—back recoils
The burning lava—rolling on itself:—
The ground is lifted up:—the city rides
On the huge swell like bark upon the waves:—
The sea, loud thundering, from the shore retires
Far as the eye can reach.—Then sinks again
The earth;—the city sinks:—the sea comes back,
Piled in a ridge that seems to touch the sky:—
Swift as the wind it comes;—it roars—it foams—
It shakes the inmost earth:—above the cliffs—
Above the loftiest hills it towers;—it bursts:—
The fires are instant quench'd:—the lava stream
Stops—solid.—But again
The ground with last convulsive struggle heaves;
The sea hastes back:—the dark and drench'd remains,
Of that ill-fated city are lift up
High, trembling, in the air:—the giant rocks
That gird the shores fall shivering to th' abyss:—
The earth like a tempestuous ocean rolls,
Sinking in hollows—rising into steeps.—
Here in a trough the tallest pines sink down:—
There, rivers lifted up on high, their floods
Pour forth in vast cascades:—a forest here
With its innumerous trees loud howling rides
Aloft through air to seek another bed;—
There, tumbled o'er, its branches root in earth,
Its roots shoot out like branches.
In its last pang seems quaking:—back recoils
The burning lava—rolling on itself:—
The ground is lifted up:—the city rides
On the huge swell like bark upon the waves:—
The sea, loud thundering, from the shore retires
Far as the eye can reach.—Then sinks again
The earth;—the city sinks:—the sea comes back,
Piled in a ridge that seems to touch the sky:—
Swift as the wind it comes;—it roars—it foams—
It shakes the inmost earth:—above the cliffs—
Above the loftiest hills it towers;—it bursts:—
The fires are instant quench'd:—the lava stream
Stops—solid.—But again
The ground with last convulsive struggle heaves;
The sea hastes back:—the dark and drench'd remains,
Of that ill-fated city are lift up
87
That gird the shores fall shivering to th' abyss:—
The earth like a tempestuous ocean rolls,
Sinking in hollows—rising into steeps.—
Here in a trough the tallest pines sink down:—
There, rivers lifted up on high, their floods
Pour forth in vast cascades:—a forest here
With its innumerous trees loud howling rides
Aloft through air to seek another bed;—
There, tumbled o'er, its branches root in earth,
Its roots shoot out like branches.
From the sea,
Shouldering aside the waves, new islands peer,
That look abroad awhile, then dive again,
Making huge whirlpools as the waters rush
To fill the mighty void:—and from the deeps
Flames issue, shaking high their bloody flags,
As for destruction's triumph.—Hill 'gainst hill
Clashes;—mountain to mountain nods.—
Shouldering aside the waves, new islands peer,
That look abroad awhile, then dive again,
Making huge whirlpools as the waters rush
To fill the mighty void:—and from the deeps
Flames issue, shaking high their bloody flags,
As for destruction's triumph.—Hill 'gainst hill
Clashes;—mountain to mountain nods.—
88
Yawns then
The ground—a dark terrific gulf:—at once
The city sinks as in a sepulchre;—
Deep down it sinks in that tremendous pit,
Like ship that goes into the bottomless deep,—
And the huge earth-waves close above, and seal
Its everlasting tomb.—
The ground—a dark terrific gulf:—at once
The city sinks as in a sepulchre;—
Deep down it sinks in that tremendous pit,
Like ship that goes into the bottomless deep,—
And the huge earth-waves close above, and seal
Its everlasting tomb.—
'Tis gone! where late
The mighty city stood no trace is left;—
Its costly palaces—its splendid streets—
Its awful temples—all are gone. Remains
A dark-hued plain alone, whose rugged face
The lessening lightnings plough;—o'er which the flood
Of lava slowly settles in a lake.—
Years—ages—centuries—shall pass away—
And none shall tell where once that city stood.
The mighty city stood no trace is left;—
Its costly palaces—its splendid streets—
Its awful temples—all are gone. Remains
A dark-hued plain alone, whose rugged face
The lessening lightnings plough;—o'er which the flood
Of lava slowly settles in a lake.—
Years—ages—centuries—shall pass away—
And none shall tell where once that city stood.
91
ABRADATES AND PANTHEA.
The beautiful and touching story upon which the following short poem is founded occurs in Xenophon's life of Cyrus the Great.
Panthea, a woman of incomparable beauty, and wife to Abradates, king of the Susans, was taken captive by Cyrus; who, instead of using the privilege then claimed by conquerors, treated her with the greatest delicacy and kindness. This generous forbearance came to the ears of Abradates, who, in the fulness of his gratitude, went over with his forces to Cyrus, and commanded under him the scythe-armed chariots in that great and decisive battle against Crœsus which was fought in the vale of Thymbra.
Abradates was killed, and Panthea in grief and despair stabbed herself and expired upon his body.
93
'Twas on the morning of that fateful day
When Cyrus met on Thymbra's spacious plain
The mighty host by wealthy Crœsus led.—
Awful the hour when through the expectant camp
The word was given to harness for the fight
For warlike was the foe; four hundred times
A thousand was his strength; in horsemen strong,
And strong in Egypt's yet unconquer'd bands;—
But Cyrus fear'd not, though his Persain men
Not half their number told; for they were bred
To hardship and fatigue; on coarsest fare
They fed, despising luxury and sloth,
And had been used to victory.—So he made
A sacrifice to God, and bade them arm
To march against the foe.
When Cyrus met on Thymbra's spacious plain
The mighty host by wealthy Crœsus led.—
Awful the hour when through the expectant camp
The word was given to harness for the fight
For warlike was the foe; four hundred times
A thousand was his strength; in horsemen strong,
And strong in Egypt's yet unconquer'd bands;—
But Cyrus fear'd not, though his Persain men
Not half their number told; for they were bred
94
They fed, despising luxury and sloth,
And had been used to victory.—So he made
A sacrifice to God, and bade them arm
To march against the foe.
Then might be seen
O'er all the stirring camp the polish'd arms
Reflecting from the newly risen sun
Millions of sparkling points. Pale looks were there,
Yet not of terror, but that feeling high
That thrills the soldier's frame, and lifts the soul
To dare all possible things: and busy hands
Were buckling armour on:—and swords were drawn
And sheath'd again, and many-colour'd plumes
Nodded o'er brazen helmets:—steeds in mail
Pranced underneath their gorgeous riders, clad
In fiery scarlet and in glittering brass:—
And there were chariots, dreadful to behold,
With wheels scythe-arm'd: and the horses were clothed
In trappings arrow-proof; two ranks of four
Abreast, whirl'd the dire fury through the field.—
O'er all the stirring camp the polish'd arms
Reflecting from the newly risen sun
Millions of sparkling points. Pale looks were there,
Yet not of terror, but that feeling high
That thrills the soldier's frame, and lifts the soul
To dare all possible things: and busy hands
Were buckling armour on:—and swords were drawn
And sheath'd again, and many-colour'd plumes
Nodded o'er brazen helmets:—steeds in mail
Pranced underneath their gorgeous riders, clad
In fiery scarlet and in glittering brass:—
And there were chariots, dreadful to behold,
With wheels scythe-arm'd: and the horses were clothed
95
Abreast, whirl'd the dire fury through the field.—
There was a prince, whose wife in former war
Was captive made by Cyrus;—and her charms
Exceeded those of woman;—yet her mind
Was fairer than her beauty; and her soul
Grew to her husband.—Cyrus saw, but scorn'd
Such loveliness and virtue by a touch
Unhallow'd to pollute; and when her lord
Knew this forbearance, smit with gratitude,
To Cyrus with his forces he repair'd
And vow'd eternal friendship:—and that vow
Till death he kept.—The armed cars that day
Commanded he in fight:—his lovely bride
Was named Panthea;—Abradates he.—
Was captive made by Cyrus;—and her charms
Exceeded those of woman;—yet her mind
Was fairer than her beauty; and her soul
Grew to her husband.—Cyrus saw, but scorn'd
Such loveliness and virtue by a touch
Unhallow'd to pollute; and when her lord
Knew this forbearance, smit with gratitude,
To Cyrus with his forces he repair'd
And vow'd eternal friendship:—and that vow
Till death he kept.—The armed cars that day
Commanded he in fight:—his lovely bride
Was named Panthea;—Abradates he.—
When now the cuirass by his nation worn
Of quilted linen, he was putting on,
She brought him, smiling at his pleased surprise,
For by her secret orders all was done,
A helmet, bracers, bracelets, all of gold,
Coat-armour to his length, and feathery plume
Of vivid purple dye.—Her delicate hands
Assisted to array him, while the tears
She could not stay roll'd down her beauteous cheek,
And sighs unheard by him came thick and deep.
Yet, though she wept, she urged him to the race
Of glory. Think, oh! think,—she said,—
What we to Cyrus owe:—his prisoner, I
Was to his pleasures forfeit;—who of men
But he, would for a captive woman's tears
His privilege have waved?—for nor by word,
Nor loose regard, did he the blush of shame
Call to my cheek;—but with such chasten'd love
As to a sister tender brothers show,
He cheer'd my sorrowing soul; nor ransom ask'd
For liberty restored that nicest mind
Had doubted ere it gave. I told him then
How in thy breast such noble deeds would wake
A gratitude as noble:—and that life
Would in thy thinking be too short a term
To lavish in his service.—Onward then;—
And by thy deeds this day let Cyrus know
How thou dost prize his gift. But oh! my love,
When the hot fury of the fight would urge
To things that reason shrinks from; then, oh! then,
Think on Panthea:—think thou seest her left
A wretched widow sinking o'er the sod
That holds her only treasure; desolate,—
Alone upon the earth,—beyond the reach
Of comfort or of hope.
Of quilted linen, he was putting on,
She brought him, smiling at his pleased surprise,
96
A helmet, bracers, bracelets, all of gold,
Coat-armour to his length, and feathery plume
Of vivid purple dye.—Her delicate hands
Assisted to array him, while the tears
She could not stay roll'd down her beauteous cheek,
And sighs unheard by him came thick and deep.
Yet, though she wept, she urged him to the race
Of glory. Think, oh! think,—she said,—
What we to Cyrus owe:—his prisoner, I
Was to his pleasures forfeit;—who of men
But he, would for a captive woman's tears
His privilege have waved?—for nor by word,
Nor loose regard, did he the blush of shame
Call to my cheek;—but with such chasten'd love
As to a sister tender brothers show,
He cheer'd my sorrowing soul; nor ransom ask'd
For liberty restored that nicest mind
Had doubted ere it gave. I told him then
How in thy breast such noble deeds would wake
97
Would in thy thinking be too short a term
To lavish in his service.—Onward then;—
And by thy deeds this day let Cyrus know
How thou dost prize his gift. But oh! my love,
When the hot fury of the fight would urge
To things that reason shrinks from; then, oh! then,
Think on Panthea:—think thou seest her left
A wretched widow sinking o'er the sod
That holds her only treasure; desolate,—
Alone upon the earth,—beyond the reach
Of comfort or of hope.
Panthea—hush—
The prince replied:—thy words distract my soul,—
Take off these glittering trappings, for my arm
Hath not a soldier's vigour—nor my heart
Doth beat with wonted energy to day.
The prince replied:—thy words distract my soul,—
Take off these glittering trappings, for my arm
Hath not a soldier's vigour—nor my heart
Doth beat with wonted energy to day.
Nay, then am I a traitress, smiling sweet,
The lovely fair-one cried;—and she assumed
A cheerfulness she felt not; for her heart
Was fill'd with sad forebodings, and her eye
Told of unspeakable pangs;—thou shalt not stain
Thy spotless reputation for the dream
Of silly fearful woman;—be thy arm
Strong as Leviathan amid the foe,—
Thy heart like the desert lion's:—better die
The hero's death, than live to taste of shame:—
Remember Cyrus—future fame—and past;—
And think sometimes on me.
98
A cheerfulness she felt not; for her heart
Was fill'd with sad forebodings, and her eye
Told of unspeakable pangs;—thou shalt not stain
Thy spotless reputation for the dream
Of silly fearful woman;—be thy arm
Strong as Leviathan amid the foe,—
Thy heart like the desert lion's:—better die
The hero's death, than live to taste of shame:—
Remember Cyrus—future fame—and past;—
And think sometimes on me.
She said—and wiped
The tear-drops from her eye,—and round his arm
Circled a golden tress:—then to her breast
Strain'd with a long embrace the form beloved.
And kiss'd the lips she ne'er might kiss again.—
Nor less the prince with fervent ardour glow'd:—
He press'd her to his bosom, as though earth,
Nay Heaven itself had nought for him beside;—
Implored in silence Jove's protecting care,
And every blessing on her lovely head
That power supreme can give:—gazed on her face
All pale and sorrowful, where misery strove
To smile, but could not;—wiped away her tears;
Whisper'd fond words of comfort;—bade her think
Rather, how blest to meet again, than brood
O'er parting apprehensions:—strain'd her close;
And stood in silence looking in her eyes,
Vacant, and lost in torpitude of grief.
The tear-drops from her eye,—and round his arm
Circled a golden tress:—then to her breast
Strain'd with a long embrace the form beloved.
And kiss'd the lips she ne'er might kiss again.—
Nor less the prince with fervent ardour glow'd:—
He press'd her to his bosom, as though earth,
Nay Heaven itself had nought for him beside;—
99
And every blessing on her lovely head
That power supreme can give:—gazed on her face
All pale and sorrowful, where misery strove
To smile, but could not;—wiped away her tears;
Whisper'd fond words of comfort;—bade her think
Rather, how blest to meet again, than brood
O'er parting apprehensions:—strain'd her close;
And stood in silence looking in her eyes,
Vacant, and lost in torpitude of grief.
But the voice of the trumpet came—and his eye
Lighten'd—and his face had the glow of morn,—
And like the tramp of a distant steed, his heart
Sounded.—“Oh! Jupiter!” he cried, and raised
To the blue vault his eyes,—“grant that this day
I may myself approve to such a king
An ever-grateful friend,—to such a wife
A not unworthy husband.”—Then he took
One short and last embrace,—and bounded up
With clattering arms into the shining car.—
The snorting horses struck their restless hoofs
Into the trembling earth.—Unable then
To touch the form adored, Panthea press'd
On the unconscious chariot where he rode
A kiss of love.—The circling wheels moved on;—
From the bright scythes thick flashing lightnings came:—
The hollow beat of the coursers' hoofs no more
Sounded upon the ear:—the glittering car
Grew every moment less:—amid the hosts
Of chariots and of horsemen soon it mix'd.
Lighten'd—and his face had the glow of morn,—
And like the tramp of a distant steed, his heart
Sounded.—“Oh! Jupiter!” he cried, and raised
To the blue vault his eyes,—“grant that this day
I may myself approve to such a king
An ever-grateful friend,—to such a wife
A not unworthy husband.”—Then he took
One short and last embrace,—and bounded up
100
The snorting horses struck their restless hoofs
Into the trembling earth.—Unable then
To touch the form adored, Panthea press'd
On the unconscious chariot where he rode
A kiss of love.—The circling wheels moved on;—
From the bright scythes thick flashing lightnings came:—
The hollow beat of the coursers' hoofs no more
Sounded upon the ear:—the glittering car
Grew every moment less:—amid the hosts
Of chariots and of horsemen soon it mix'd.
Panthea press'd her aching eyes;—her heart
Was deadly sick:—she spake not, but her look
Grew wild and terrified:—among the tents
She wander'd vacantly, like one in sleep
Unknowing where he treads: then would she stop,
And seem to catch faint distant sounds, that shot
Like death chills o'er her face; her flashing eye
Starting and wild,—with open mouth, and brow
Knit as in pain. But she grew calmer soon,
And fell upon the earth, and sent to Heaven
Prayers silent and unceasing; till she heard
From the far plain, upon the breezes borne,
The awful hymn of battle chaunted loud
By Persia's ardent legions.—Then she knew
The crisis was at hand:—all pale she rose;
A moment listen'd to the inspiring sound
That seem'd to fill the concave of the sky:—
Clasp'd her white hands in agony;—look'd up
Imploringly to Heaven, with ashy lips
Parted, yet motionless, and eye that seem'd
Fix'd as in trance of death:—then from her brow
Dash'd the o'erhanging ringlets; seem'd to draw
In one full breath a resolution high;—
A moment longer listen'd to the swell
Of the fast closing hymn;—then drew her robe
Of virgin whiteness round her delicate limbs,
And paced with rapid step the deep trod road
Toward the direful field.
Was deadly sick:—she spake not, but her look
Grew wild and terrified:—among the tents
She wander'd vacantly, like one in sleep
Unknowing where he treads: then would she stop,
And seem to catch faint distant sounds, that shot
Like death chills o'er her face; her flashing eye
101
Knit as in pain. But she grew calmer soon,
And fell upon the earth, and sent to Heaven
Prayers silent and unceasing; till she heard
From the far plain, upon the breezes borne,
The awful hymn of battle chaunted loud
By Persia's ardent legions.—Then she knew
The crisis was at hand:—all pale she rose;
A moment listen'd to the inspiring sound
That seem'd to fill the concave of the sky:—
Clasp'd her white hands in agony;—look'd up
Imploringly to Heaven, with ashy lips
Parted, yet motionless, and eye that seem'd
Fix'd as in trance of death:—then from her brow
Dash'd the o'erhanging ringlets; seem'd to draw
In one full breath a resolution high;—
A moment longer listen'd to the swell
Of the fast closing hymn;—then drew her robe
Of virgin whiteness round her delicate limbs,
102
Toward the direful field.
As she moved on,
The solemn war-chaunt ceased; and in its stead
Shoutings and cries horrific struck her ear,
And a noise like distant thunder, or the coil
Of struggling waters;—and she felt the earth
Shake like a smitten drum;—for the horsemen then,
Ten times ten thousand, were in conflict join'd,
And the chariots were lightning on.
The solemn war-chaunt ceased; and in its stead
Shoutings and cries horrific struck her ear,
And a noise like distant thunder, or the coil
Of struggling waters;—and she felt the earth
Shake like a smitten drum;—for the horsemen then,
Ten times ten thousand, were in conflict join'd,
And the chariots were lightning on.
She spake not yet,
But her heart throbb'd fast and loud, and o'er her came
A chill like the touch of death:—her waving locks
Felt stiffening into motion, and her feet
Seem'd as they trod on air.—So on she sped
Till she had reach'd a hill, whose peak sublime
O'erlook'd the scene of carnage.
But her heart throbb'd fast and loud, and o'er her came
A chill like the touch of death:—her waving locks
Felt stiffening into motion, and her feet
Seem'd as they trod on air.—So on she sped
Till she had reach'd a hill, whose peak sublime
O'erlook'd the scene of carnage.
103
As she climb'd,
Louder and louder came the din of fight,
Like a gathering tempest groaning in the air;
And soon the Assyrian banners caught her eye,
And the glare of brazen armour:—and still on,—
Too far for clear discernment, she beheld
Flashings of steel, and horsemen scouring on,
Pursuing or pursued, and clouds of dust
That seem'd to reach the sky:—yet paused she not,
Though now the golden Persian eagle raised
His glittering wings aloft; and she might see
Myriads of charging foot and tramping steeds:
Still toil'd she upward, till, the summit won,
Like a vast sea th' interminable vale
Lay spread before her view. Oh! what a sight
For woman's gentle eye! Like to the clouds
Of all devouring locusts, that at noon
With their innumerous legions load the air
And bring thick darkness,—so unnumber'd seem'd
Th' exterminating hosts.
Louder and louder came the din of fight,
Like a gathering tempest groaning in the air;
And soon the Assyrian banners caught her eye,
And the glare of brazen armour:—and still on,—
Too far for clear discernment, she beheld
Flashings of steel, and horsemen scouring on,
Pursuing or pursued, and clouds of dust
That seem'd to reach the sky:—yet paused she not,
Though now the golden Persian eagle raised
His glittering wings aloft; and she might see
Myriads of charging foot and tramping steeds:
Still toil'd she upward, till, the summit won,
Like a vast sea th' interminable vale
Lay spread before her view. Oh! what a sight
For woman's gentle eye! Like to the clouds
Of all devouring locusts, that at noon
With their innumerous legions load the air
And bring thick darkness,—so unnumber'd seem'd
Th' exterminating hosts.
104
She closed her eyes,
For they felt on fire;—the air—the earth—the sky—
All seem'd in motion like the surge's heave.—
She sicken'd—sunk—and for a moment lost
Her senses and her misery.—But the shouts—
The clang of arms—the thousand trumpet notes
Bursting renew'd and terrible, aroused
To sense of life and agonizing dread.
For they felt on fire;—the air—the earth—the sky—
All seem'd in motion like the surge's heave.—
She sicken'd—sunk—and for a moment lost
Her senses and her misery.—But the shouts—
The clang of arms—the thousand trumpet notes
Bursting renew'd and terrible, aroused
To sense of life and agonizing dread.
The sun shone hot upon the plain:—his rays
Seem'd kindling into fire the myriad swords,
Helmets, and cuirasses—and plates of brass,
That flash'd upon her sight. Against Heaven's dome,
Seem'd to leap up, and echo back, the din
Of the unequall'd contest.—Like a dream,—
A horrible vision o'er her heart it came,
But yet she felt 'twas true. With piercing eye
She search'd the field; a thousand deaths she saw,—
But still her eye moved on:—here squadrons fled,—
There rallied—fled again—and rallied still,—
Nor drew Panthea's gaze:—the form she sought
Mingled not there,—and there her soul was not.
Seem'd kindling into fire the myriad swords,
Helmets, and cuirasses—and plates of brass,
That flash'd upon her sight. Against Heaven's dome,
Seem'd to leap up, and echo back, the din
Of the unequall'd contest.—Like a dream,—
A horrible vision o'er her heart it came,
But yet she felt 'twas true. With piercing eye
She search'd the field; a thousand deaths she saw,—
But still her eye moved on:—here squadrons fled,—
There rallied—fled again—and rallied still,—
105
Mingled not there,—and there her soul was not.
In calmer hour how had one single death,—
One wound awaked a sympathizing pang
In her too tender breast!—now thousands fall;—
Horses and men in heaps—and o'er them tread
Thousands who fall in turn;—still sees she all,
Scarce noting of the carnage:—yet at times
The Persian shout of triumph struck her ear
And shot a thrill of transport,—quickly past.
One wound awaked a sympathizing pang
In her too tender breast!—now thousands fall;—
Horses and men in heaps—and o'er them tread
Thousands who fall in turn;—still sees she all,
Scarce noting of the carnage:—yet at times
The Persian shout of triumph struck her ear
And shot a thrill of transport,—quickly past.
Where—where is Abradates?—only him
Seeks she amid the hosts.—What sees she now?
She sees from far the lofty chariots whirl:—
She hears faint distant shoutings:—sure his plume,
His purple plume is there!—'tis lost again—
Again it gleams—and fades:—sure 'tis his voice
So clear and strong that cheers the fierce attack!—
How the swift horses spurn the scattering earth!
They come—they come—a long and dreadful front;
Three hundred ponderous chariots;—yoked to each
Eight barb'd and mighty coursers,—wrapp'd in flames
Incessant flashing from the iron wheels,
The brazen trappings of the foaming steeds,
The gilded breast-plates and the polish'd casques,
And the dire scythes, on which the burning sun
Trembles and glows in wreaths of living fire.
Aloft in every car, erect and bold,
The charioteer flies on, and whirls the lash,
And shakes the clattering reins.—
Seeks she amid the hosts.—What sees she now?
She sees from far the lofty chariots whirl:—
She hears faint distant shoutings:—sure his plume,
His purple plume is there!—'tis lost again—
Again it gleams—and fades:—sure 'tis his voice
So clear and strong that cheers the fierce attack!—
How the swift horses spurn the scattering earth!
106
Three hundred ponderous chariots;—yoked to each
Eight barb'd and mighty coursers,—wrapp'd in flames
Incessant flashing from the iron wheels,
The brazen trappings of the foaming steeds,
The gilded breast-plates and the polish'd casques,
And the dire scythes, on which the burning sun
Trembles and glows in wreaths of living fire.
Aloft in every car, erect and bold,
The charioteer flies on, and whirls the lash,
And shakes the clattering reins.—
'Tis he again—
She knows him now:—Ah! better never known!
Pre-eminent above the rest he stands,
And points toward the foe. His voice she hears:—
He stoops and smites the steeds:—with tempest's force
They thunder on:—before the rest he flies:—
Alone upon the foe he comes:—wedged thick
With close-lock'd shields and spears protruding far,
Stands Egypt's phalanx firm!—vain! vain! he breaks,
Like the bolt of Jupiter through the dense clouds,
Deep—deep into their ranks. O'er all that stood
He rode resistless:—'neath the iron wheels,
Shields, helmets, crackled loud:—the spear in vain
'Gainst his mail'd horses struck;—emboss'd with foam,
And fiercely snorting, through the thick array
They hold their dreadful course:—beneath their feet
Whole hosts are trampled down.—As some tall ship
When the stiff tempest bellies every sail
And bends the groaning masts,—with sharpen'd prow
And breast capacious, through the whitening waves
Dashes her furious way,—so through the ranks
Rode the proud chariot on; and as the keel
Ploughs through the glowing deep,—the scythed wheels so
Cut through the sinking mass:—through shield—through mail—
Through flesh and cracking bone, the steel holds on,
And leaves the parted carcase in the dust
Gushing out floods of blood.—
She knows him now:—Ah! better never known!
Pre-eminent above the rest he stands,
And points toward the foe. His voice she hears:—
He stoops and smites the steeds:—with tempest's force
They thunder on:—before the rest he flies:—
Alone upon the foe he comes:—wedged thick
With close-lock'd shields and spears protruding far,
107
Like the bolt of Jupiter through the dense clouds,
Deep—deep into their ranks. O'er all that stood
He rode resistless:—'neath the iron wheels,
Shields, helmets, crackled loud:—the spear in vain
'Gainst his mail'd horses struck;—emboss'd with foam,
And fiercely snorting, through the thick array
They hold their dreadful course:—beneath their feet
Whole hosts are trampled down.—As some tall ship
When the stiff tempest bellies every sail
And bends the groaning masts,—with sharpen'd prow
And breast capacious, through the whitening waves
Dashes her furious way,—so through the ranks
Rode the proud chariot on; and as the keel
Ploughs through the glowing deep,—the scythed wheels so
Cut through the sinking mass:—through shield—through mail—
Through flesh and cracking bone, the steel holds on,
108
Gushing out floods of blood.—
Panthea's eye
Saw nought of this:—saw not,—heard not the shock,—
Though now the unimaginable charge,—
O'erwhelming and at once, of all that rank
Of horrid engines sent its din to Heaven,
Like crash of falling cities, when the earth
Heaves and recoils—and trembles in its rage;—
Throws prostrate mountains;—lifts the valleys up
In heavy surges;—splits the eternal rocks,
And makes the breezeless ocean dash the clouds.—
She saw not this;—saw not the mass condensed
Of Egypt's valiant warriors sinking down
As by the desert's death-blast:—nor the shouts
Heard she;—the cries of rage—of pain—despair—
The crash of shields—of armour—helms and spears,—
Splinter'd and crush'd beneath the grinding wheels:—
She knew not this:—on one alone her eye,
Her soul, her senses fix'd.
Saw nought of this:—saw not,—heard not the shock,—
Though now the unimaginable charge,—
O'erwhelming and at once, of all that rank
Of horrid engines sent its din to Heaven,
Like crash of falling cities, when the earth
Heaves and recoils—and trembles in its rage;—
Throws prostrate mountains;—lifts the valleys up
In heavy surges;—splits the eternal rocks,
And makes the breezeless ocean dash the clouds.—
She saw not this;—saw not the mass condensed
Of Egypt's valiant warriors sinking down
As by the desert's death-blast:—nor the shouts
Heard she;—the cries of rage—of pain—despair—
The crash of shields—of armour—helms and spears,—
Splinter'd and crush'd beneath the grinding wheels:—
109
Her soul, her senses fix'd.
Still roll'd his car,—
The ranks still fell around:—but slower now,
Jaded with toil,—with blood bespatter'd o'er,
The blowing horses move.—With carnage clogg'd,
O'er heaps of slain the unsteady chariot drags,
Heaving and swaying:—still undaunted stands,
Though now was no retreat,—though far before,
And on each side the flood of foes was spread;—
Though round his head unnumber'd lances flew,
And succour near was none;—still in his car
Undaunted Abradates ply'd the scourge,
Still cheer'd his matchless coursers to their toil,—
Still dream'd of fame when nought but death was nigh.
Oh! then Panthea's agony came on:—
Her hands were clasp'd—her eyes seem'd balls of fire:—
She breathed not,—stirr'd not.—For a while she saw
The glittering chariot through the tide of men
Urging its fateful way:—but how it rocks!
Like ship amid the angry billows tost,
From side to side it swings:—rises—and sinks,—
And mounts again o'er hillocks of the slain.
It cannot last:—the intrepid charioteer
Heaves giddy to and fro:—with grasping hand
He clings a moment to the toppling car,—
Then headlong to the earth, with dreadful crash,
Chariot and charioteer are overthrown,
Never again to rise.—
The ranks still fell around:—but slower now,
Jaded with toil,—with blood bespatter'd o'er,
The blowing horses move.—With carnage clogg'd,
O'er heaps of slain the unsteady chariot drags,
Heaving and swaying:—still undaunted stands,
Though now was no retreat,—though far before,
And on each side the flood of foes was spread;—
Though round his head unnumber'd lances flew,
And succour near was none;—still in his car
Undaunted Abradates ply'd the scourge,
Still cheer'd his matchless coursers to their toil,—
Still dream'd of fame when nought but death was nigh.
Oh! then Panthea's agony came on:—
Her hands were clasp'd—her eyes seem'd balls of fire:—
110
The glittering chariot through the tide of men
Urging its fateful way:—but how it rocks!
Like ship amid the angry billows tost,
From side to side it swings:—rises—and sinks,—
And mounts again o'er hillocks of the slain.
It cannot last:—the intrepid charioteer
Heaves giddy to and fro:—with grasping hand
He clings a moment to the toppling car,—
Then headlong to the earth, with dreadful crash,
Chariot and charioteer are overthrown,
Never again to rise.—
Panthea saw—
She heard th' exulting shouts—she shriek'd—convulsed,
Senseless and stiff she fell,—and misery
Awhile forebore its victim.
She heard th' exulting shouts—she shriek'd—convulsed,
Senseless and stiff she fell,—and misery
Awhile forebore its victim.
111
It was night:—
Such fearful night as closes in the day
Of mortal conflict.—Heaven's bright lamp was out,—
But man with thousand flickering fires had spread
The boundless plain, that mock'd his absent ray.—
Silence was in the air:—the beauteous gems
Of night—Heaven's radiant watch when, in his dark
Pavilion Jove reposes, glow'd serene.—
No moving cloud was seen:—the lofty trees,
The dew-steep'd grass, the dim and distant hills,
All seem'd in sleep profound.—But mortals waked:—
The voice of pain was heard—the deep'ning groan—
The burst of anger—and the sob of grief;—
The loud lament;—the dull monotonous tone
Of grief-condoling friend:—loud laughter then
From jovial groups unhurt who ply the bowl,
And tell their feats that day. With toil oppress'd
Some, on the naked ground outstretch'd in sleep,
Breathe loud and heavily.—Along the plain
Quick moving torches glance:—light female forms
With hurried step are seeking through the field
Husbands or lovers—fathers—brothers lost:—
To many a ghastly face the torch is lower'd,
And snatch'd in haste away:—o'er many a pale
And gasping victim leans the wretched friend,
And gives the useless cordial.—Staggering, weak,
Just risen from the ground, and bleeding fast,
Some unsupported wretch there totters on
To seek uncertain help:—he pauses oft
And leans upon his sword, and feels the tide
Of life fast ebbing from his wounds; then looks
With anxious eye on the calm heaven, and sighs
To think on wife and child—and far-off home—
And scenes of infancy beloved—and friends
Perhaps for ever lost.—Oh! then his soul
Sinks in him; and the stifling sob, that tells
The breaking heart, is heard, as slow again
He trembles on his way.
Such fearful night as closes in the day
Of mortal conflict.—Heaven's bright lamp was out,—
But man with thousand flickering fires had spread
The boundless plain, that mock'd his absent ray.—
Silence was in the air:—the beauteous gems
Of night—Heaven's radiant watch when, in his dark
Pavilion Jove reposes, glow'd serene.—
No moving cloud was seen:—the lofty trees,
The dew-steep'd grass, the dim and distant hills,
All seem'd in sleep profound.—But mortals waked:—
The voice of pain was heard—the deep'ning groan—
The burst of anger—and the sob of grief;—
The loud lament;—the dull monotonous tone
Of grief-condoling friend:—loud laughter then
From jovial groups unhurt who ply the bowl,
And tell their feats that day. With toil oppress'd
Some, on the naked ground outstretch'd in sleep,
Breathe loud and heavily.—Along the plain
Quick moving torches glance:—light female forms
With hurried step are seeking through the field
112
To many a ghastly face the torch is lower'd,
And snatch'd in haste away:—o'er many a pale
And gasping victim leans the wretched friend,
And gives the useless cordial.—Staggering, weak,
Just risen from the ground, and bleeding fast,
Some unsupported wretch there totters on
To seek uncertain help:—he pauses oft
And leans upon his sword, and feels the tide
Of life fast ebbing from his wounds; then looks
With anxious eye on the calm heaven, and sighs
To think on wife and child—and far-off home—
And scenes of infancy beloved—and friends
Perhaps for ever lost.—Oh! then his soul
Sinks in him; and the stifling sob, that tells
The breaking heart, is heard, as slow again
He trembles on his way.
The distant tread
Of lonely horseman,—o'er the soft smooth sod
Pattering, like summer rain-drops when the air
Is hush'd, and heavy clouds, like rocks of jet
Rising precipitous above the rim
Of the horizon, threaten thunder near—
Is heard at times: or neigh of wounded steed,
Answer'd perchance by one who arches proud
His neck unscathed;—with all his armour on,
Fearless and free roaming the darkling plain,—
His rider with the dead.—
Of lonely horseman,—o'er the soft smooth sod
Pattering, like summer rain-drops when the air
113
Rising precipitous above the rim
Of the horizon, threaten thunder near—
Is heard at times: or neigh of wounded steed,
Answer'd perchance by one who arches proud
His neck unscathed;—with all his armour on,
Fearless and free roaming the darkling plain,—
His rider with the dead.—
There slowly moves
The sorrowing group that in their arms bear off
The dying man:—the torch light on his face
Throws its red glare, but cannot hide the hue
Of ghastly death:—the arrow in his breast
Is rooted still, and quivers as they tread:—
They seek the wearied leach;—but fate prevents,
And ere they pause the vital spark has fled!
The sorrowing group that in their arms bear off
The dying man:—the torch light on his face
Throws its red glare, but cannot hide the hue
Of ghastly death:—the arrow in his breast
Is rooted still, and quivers as they tread:—
They seek the wearied leach;—but fate prevents,
And ere they pause the vital spark has fled!
Such is the victor's portion! such the night
That follows on the day of glorious fame,
When Cyrus o'er the banded hosts of Greece,
Of Egypt, and of Asia, conqueror stood.—
His foes were scatter'd wide, or captive made,
Or breathless on the field:—the shouts of joy
Had rent the evening air:—the trophies waved,—
The glittering spoils were won:—but then the night
Comes with its solemn feelings;—pomp and shows
Are hid,—but sad realities of woe,
That sun can never cheer, nor darkness hide,
Proclaim war's follies, and its desperate guilt.—
That follows on the day of glorious fame,
114
Of Egypt, and of Asia, conqueror stood.—
His foes were scatter'd wide, or captive made,
Or breathless on the field:—the shouts of joy
Had rent the evening air:—the trophies waved,—
The glittering spoils were won:—but then the night
Comes with its solemn feelings;—pomp and shows
Are hid,—but sad realities of woe,
That sun can never cheer, nor darkness hide,
Proclaim war's follies, and its desperate guilt.—
Where is Panthea?—far across the vale,
In darkness and in solitude she sits
On the cold earth:—outstretch'd beside her lies
The body of her lord,—and in her lap
The pallid head is laid. Silence is round,
Save from a little rill the murmur soft
And melancholy;—save from the far camp,
In the deep hush of midnight dimly heard,
Quick flitting noises, and anon the hum,
On favouring breezes borne, of many tongues;—
Or neigh of steed that seems to melt away
In the vast air, so soft it strikes the sense.
In darkness and in solitude she sits
On the cold earth:—outstretch'd beside her lies
The body of her lord,—and in her lap
The pallid head is laid. Silence is round,
Save from a little rill the murmur soft
And melancholy;—save from the far camp,
In the deep hush of midnight dimly heard,
Quick flitting noises, and anon the hum,
115
Or neigh of steed that seems to melt away
In the vast air, so soft it strikes the sense.
There, motionless and vacant—with a heart
Broken—and crush'd—and wither'd, till the weight
Of misery had brought its own relief,
That torpor of the soul, when grief no more
Can wake a pang, nor hope impart a smile;—
There sat Panthea:—on her husband's face
Her fix'd eyes bent:—her locks dishevell'd hung
Adown her lovely neck.—There through the night
Wretched sat she,—and there she linger'd still
When the grey morning dawn'd:—she had not stirr'd;
She had not sigh'd:—the cold fresh mists of morn
Stood thick upon her—and her golden hair
Studded with trembling dew-drops. Like the corse
She gazed upon, the deadness of her look:—
Pale as a sculptured marble; but her form
Lovelier than ever artist traced,—or thought
Of poet or of lover, in his dreams
Of more than earthly beauty, caught and lost.—
Down her fair cheek the tear that sometimes fell
Was all that told of life:—a statue else,—
The work of hand divine, to earth consign'd
For mortals to adore and gaze upon,—
She might have seem'd.—
Broken—and crush'd—and wither'd, till the weight
Of misery had brought its own relief,
That torpor of the soul, when grief no more
Can wake a pang, nor hope impart a smile;—
There sat Panthea:—on her husband's face
Her fix'd eyes bent:—her locks dishevell'd hung
Adown her lovely neck.—There through the night
Wretched sat she,—and there she linger'd still
When the grey morning dawn'd:—she had not stirr'd;
She had not sigh'd:—the cold fresh mists of morn
Stood thick upon her—and her golden hair
Studded with trembling dew-drops. Like the corse
She gazed upon, the deadness of her look:—
Pale as a sculptured marble; but her form
116
Of poet or of lover, in his dreams
Of more than earthly beauty, caught and lost.—
Down her fair cheek the tear that sometimes fell
Was all that told of life:—a statue else,—
The work of hand divine, to earth consign'd
For mortals to adore and gaze upon,—
She might have seem'd.—
The glorious sun arose
To light the heavens and earth, and gladden all
With his creative beam benignant. Swift
From his soft couch the playful deer upsprings,
Shaking his dewy coat, and joyous bounds
From the close thicket where he lay, to crop
The herbage twinkling in the laughing sun.—
Thousands of painted birds are quiring loud
Their welcome to the new-born day, or plume
In the gay light, on the tall forest trees,
Or by the sparkling streamlet or crisp'd lake,
Their gorgeous wings of ruby, emerald,
Sapphire, or golden die.—The antelope
Stands singly on the edge of rocky height
Precipitous,—a speck against the sky,—
To gaze awhile on the vast plains of light
And warmth below:—then fearless down the steep,
Leaping and bounding, comes to browse the grass
Delicious in its morning dew; or drink
At the clear fountain, where it bubbles up
Through the green vested soil;—or where it strays,
Like liquid crystal glassing golden sands,
Along the plain, so tranquil and so pure.—
The desert steed is prancing in the strength
Of youth and freedom: o'er the yielding sod
Proudly he lifts his sinewy limbs, and rears
His curling mane, and arches his strong neck:
Spreads his broad nostril to the wind—then starts;
And, loudly neighing, wantons in the joys
Of the young day.—Nature is all delight.
But what are glowing suns, and airs of morn,
Fragrance of flowery meads, and song of birds,
To the grief-poison'd heart?—As o'er the eye
Of death light's concentrated rays might pour;
As on the ear earth's mingled chorus fall,
And wake no feeling there—so to the soul
Benumb'd like lost Panthea's, all the joys
That earth can give, nay, all the pictured bliss
Of heaven or of elysium, fail to wake
One throb of hope responsive.—All is blank—
Nature seems dead:—the sun himself is dark:—
There is no perfume in the flower, no taste
In earth's most luscious fruit, no tone of joy
In music's loftiest measure!—
To light the heavens and earth, and gladden all
With his creative beam benignant. Swift
From his soft couch the playful deer upsprings,
Shaking his dewy coat, and joyous bounds
From the close thicket where he lay, to crop
The herbage twinkling in the laughing sun.—
Thousands of painted birds are quiring loud
Their welcome to the new-born day, or plume
In the gay light, on the tall forest trees,
Or by the sparkling streamlet or crisp'd lake,
117
Sapphire, or golden die.—The antelope
Stands singly on the edge of rocky height
Precipitous,—a speck against the sky,—
To gaze awhile on the vast plains of light
And warmth below:—then fearless down the steep,
Leaping and bounding, comes to browse the grass
Delicious in its morning dew; or drink
At the clear fountain, where it bubbles up
Through the green vested soil;—or where it strays,
Like liquid crystal glassing golden sands,
Along the plain, so tranquil and so pure.—
The desert steed is prancing in the strength
Of youth and freedom: o'er the yielding sod
Proudly he lifts his sinewy limbs, and rears
His curling mane, and arches his strong neck:
Spreads his broad nostril to the wind—then starts;
And, loudly neighing, wantons in the joys
Of the young day.—Nature is all delight.
But what are glowing suns, and airs of morn,
118
To the grief-poison'd heart?—As o'er the eye
Of death light's concentrated rays might pour;
As on the ear earth's mingled chorus fall,
And wake no feeling there—so to the soul
Benumb'd like lost Panthea's, all the joys
That earth can give, nay, all the pictured bliss
Of heaven or of elysium, fail to wake
One throb of hope responsive.—All is blank—
Nature seems dead:—the sun himself is dark:—
There is no perfume in the flower, no taste
In earth's most luscious fruit, no tone of joy
In music's loftiest measure!—
Wretched fair!
There sat she in the splendour of the morn,
O'er the cold corpse inclining, as through night
She motionless had sat; nor knew the change,
For with her all was darkness.—
There sat she in the splendour of the morn,
O'er the cold corpse inclining, as through night
She motionless had sat; nor knew the change,
For with her all was darkness.—
119
Through the heavens,
Half-way his flaming course the sun had run
Yet there she linger'd still; nor seem'd to feel
The torrid beam, beneath whose fury droop'd
All living things—the herb and lofty tree,
The kid and the fierce lion:—nor her cheek
Had caught the tinge of sunny noon, nor seem'd
Like aught but dead,—save that the calm of death
Sate not upon it; but deep lines imprest,
And sharpen'd features, told the agony
Still rankling there.—
Half-way his flaming course the sun had run
Yet there she linger'd still; nor seem'd to feel
The torrid beam, beneath whose fury droop'd
All living things—the herb and lofty tree,
The kid and the fierce lion:—nor her cheek
Had caught the tinge of sunny noon, nor seem'd
Like aught but dead,—save that the calm of death
Sate not upon it; but deep lines imprest,
And sharpen'd features, told the agony
Still rankling there.—
Her faithful women now,
Long searching, find her:—vainly they implore
The wretched mourner to be comforted:—
Vainly with tears they beg, the honour'd corse
To deck in funeral ornaments:—in vain
They put the cheering cordial to her lips:—
She has no sense of hearing, taste, or sight;—
No function of the soul, save what is bound
Immoveably to one sole end:—the sword
Might have pierced deep her breast;—the torturing fire
Consumed her limbs—and she had died,—but not
Had sense to feel their sufferings.—
Long searching, find her:—vainly they implore
The wretched mourner to be comforted:—
Vainly with tears they beg, the honour'd corse
To deck in funeral ornaments:—in vain
They put the cheering cordial to her lips:—
She has no sense of hearing, taste, or sight;—
No function of the soul, save what is bound
120
Might have pierced deep her breast;—the torturing fire
Consumed her limbs—and she had died,—but not
Had sense to feel their sufferings.—
Gently then
With a rich veil they shade her, and, oppress'd
With sorrow, to short distance slowly move,—
And sitting on the earth, their faces hide,
And weep.
With a rich veil they shade her, and, oppress'd
With sorrow, to short distance slowly move,—
And sitting on the earth, their faces hide,
And weep.
With merry step along the vale
Came groups of Persian soldiers,—from pursuit
Of straggling foe—or by the thirst of spoil
To distance lured the jest—the laugh is heard
As they approach; but misery like this,
To beauty so unmatchable conjoin'd,
Appals their mirth;—they pause to gaze awhile,
Then sighing—and in silence take their way.
Came groups of Persian soldiers,—from pursuit
Of straggling foe—or by the thirst of spoil
To distance lured the jest—the laugh is heard
As they approach; but misery like this,
To beauty so unmatchable conjoin'd,
Appals their mirth;—they pause to gaze awhile,
Then sighing—and in silence take their way.
121
The slanting beam of day now midway stood
'Twixt noon and eve:—and as the night—the morn—
And the meridian hour had found her, so
Was the poor mourner still.
'Twixt noon and eve:—and as the night—the morn—
And the meridian hour had found her, so
Was the poor mourner still.
But who is this
That comes along the vale?—a thousand horse
Attend his state:—his steed is white as snow;
His vesture is of scarlet and of gold.—
'Tis Cyrus: he has heard her grief, and comes
To bid her dry her tears, and minister
Soft words of consolation. From his horse
Lightly he bounds: lovely is he in youth,
And dazzling in the splendour of attire;
Nods in his golden helm a violet plume;
His step is light as the young antelope's:
His countenance is fresh as morn of May.—
Yet not an eye gazed on him:—she alone,
The beauteous mourner, drew all looks: a shape
Of Heaven might almost noticeless have walk'd
Among them—such her beauty and her grief.
With solemn step, and look compassionate
And sad, the youthful conqueror draws near:
Above the corse in silence stands awhile,
And heaves the frequent sigh.—Fast coming thought
Of glorious actions past, and generous deeds
By him perform'd who now upon the earth
Lay but a kindred clod, oppress his soul,
And tell him that the conqueror's fame is but
A bauble.—Fancy's rapid pencil draws
The ardent warrior in his splendid car,
Youthful, and strong, and beauteous;—with an eye
Of light—a brow of glory—and a voice
Loud as war's brazen herald:—shining on
He sees him through the glittering ranks;—erect
He stands, and curbs his fiery steeds that know
Their master's guiding hand.—And is this he?
This cold, and pallid, and disfigured corse?
Is this the mighty one of yesterday?
It is—and Cyrus weeps. Hast thou, he said,
Noble, but too courageous spirit, left
Thy all disconsolate friends?—then stoop'd
And grasp'd the stiffen'd hand;—it clung to his—
By an Egyptian spear from the strong arm
It had been sever'd. Shuddering he replaced
The mangled limb,—while o'er Panthea's frame
A slight and scarcely noticed quiver play'd;
And that dead calm of agony return'd,
As though she had not seen, or could not feel—
Or seeing—heeded not. All desolate,
Yet in her desolation awful too,
Was she—the mirthful felt rebuke; the sad
Dropt tears, to look upon her. Like the gloom
Of some vast silent temple, when the eve
Is closing in with solemn gusts, and clouds
Dense and slow moving through the cheerless sky;
When the white monumental marbles gleam
Dimly, like ghosts that hold their mournful watch
Above the mouldering clay; their mansion once
Beloved, and still remember'd:—when, along
The lofty and invisible roof, the sound
Of the hush'd footstep hurries to and fro
Like whisperings of unearthly voices, roused
By man's intruding presence:—when the air—
Moveless and cold—seems stopping at the heart
The curdling blood, and all but death and night
Are guests unbidden;—with a gloom like this
Came on the gazer's heart the utter blank,
The hopeless misery, the freezing calm,
Of that fair mourner's aspect: life seem'd gone,
And dire despair the tenant of that frame
So beauteous, yet so fearful.
That comes along the vale?—a thousand horse
Attend his state:—his steed is white as snow;
His vesture is of scarlet and of gold.—
'Tis Cyrus: he has heard her grief, and comes
To bid her dry her tears, and minister
Soft words of consolation. From his horse
Lightly he bounds: lovely is he in youth,
And dazzling in the splendour of attire;
Nods in his golden helm a violet plume;
His step is light as the young antelope's:
His countenance is fresh as morn of May.—
Yet not an eye gazed on him:—she alone,
The beauteous mourner, drew all looks: a shape
Of Heaven might almost noticeless have walk'd
122
With solemn step, and look compassionate
And sad, the youthful conqueror draws near:
Above the corse in silence stands awhile,
And heaves the frequent sigh.—Fast coming thought
Of glorious actions past, and generous deeds
By him perform'd who now upon the earth
Lay but a kindred clod, oppress his soul,
And tell him that the conqueror's fame is but
A bauble.—Fancy's rapid pencil draws
The ardent warrior in his splendid car,
Youthful, and strong, and beauteous;—with an eye
Of light—a brow of glory—and a voice
Loud as war's brazen herald:—shining on
He sees him through the glittering ranks;—erect
He stands, and curbs his fiery steeds that know
Their master's guiding hand.—And is this he?
This cold, and pallid, and disfigured corse?
Is this the mighty one of yesterday?
It is—and Cyrus weeps. Hast thou, he said,
123
Thy all disconsolate friends?—then stoop'd
And grasp'd the stiffen'd hand;—it clung to his—
By an Egyptian spear from the strong arm
It had been sever'd. Shuddering he replaced
The mangled limb,—while o'er Panthea's frame
A slight and scarcely noticed quiver play'd;
And that dead calm of agony return'd,
As though she had not seen, or could not feel—
Or seeing—heeded not. All desolate,
Yet in her desolation awful too,
Was she—the mirthful felt rebuke; the sad
Dropt tears, to look upon her. Like the gloom
Of some vast silent temple, when the eve
Is closing in with solemn gusts, and clouds
Dense and slow moving through the cheerless sky;
When the white monumental marbles gleam
Dimly, like ghosts that hold their mournful watch
Above the mouldering clay; their mansion once
Beloved, and still remember'd:—when, along
124
Of the hush'd footstep hurries to and fro
Like whisperings of unearthly voices, roused
By man's intruding presence:—when the air—
Moveless and cold—seems stopping at the heart
The curdling blood, and all but death and night
Are guests unbidden;—with a gloom like this
Came on the gazer's heart the utter blank,
The hopeless misery, the freezing calm,
Of that fair mourner's aspect: life seem'd gone,
And dire despair the tenant of that frame
So beauteous, yet so fearful.
Not a sound
From all those numbers was there heard: each face
Bore a funereal sadness:—every man
Look'd as his parent or his spouse were dead:
The rich vale might a desert be,—so drear
The silence,—and the glorious sunshine, night;—
Such gloom hung o'er them.
From all those numbers was there heard: each face
Bore a funereal sadness:—every man
Look'd as his parent or his spouse were dead:
The rich vale might a desert be,—so drear
The silence,—and the glorious sunshine, night;—
Such gloom hung o'er them.
125
Gazing on the corse,
With folded arms and pale and tearful face,
Willing to comfort, yet afraid to wound,
Long time the youthful king had stood; the pause
Dreary and long, with faultering tone then broke.
Lady, he said, thy prince has nobly died
And gone with victory away:—desist
From grieving now, and let the honour'd corse
With the rich ornaments I bring be deck'd:—
To him all glories due to martial worth,
Even to thy utmost wish, nay more, we'll pay;
And to the latest days a monument
Of wondrous structure, fitting his renown,
Shall tell that Abradates lies beneath—
A hero and a king. Nor shalt thou, fair
And best of women, be left desolate:
Thy many virtues Cyrus while he lives
Will honour; and his power and wealth
Thou ever shalt command.—
With folded arms and pale and tearful face,
Willing to comfort, yet afraid to wound,
Long time the youthful king had stood; the pause
Dreary and long, with faultering tone then broke.
Lady, he said, thy prince has nobly died
And gone with victory away:—desist
From grieving now, and let the honour'd corse
With the rich ornaments I bring be deck'd:—
To him all glories due to martial worth,
Even to thy utmost wish, nay more, we'll pay;
And to the latest days a monument
Of wondrous structure, fitting his renown,
Shall tell that Abradates lies beneath—
A hero and a king. Nor shalt thou, fair
And best of women, be left desolate:
Thy many virtues Cyrus while he lives
Will honour; and his power and wealth
Thou ever shalt command.—
126
Panthea nought
Replied:—the hero paused awhile and wept,
Then took his way,—with all his horsemen slow
Moving, with slacken'd rein and head deprest,
Through the wide vale.—
Replied:—the hero paused awhile and wept,
Then took his way,—with all his horsemen slow
Moving, with slacken'd rein and head deprest,
Through the wide vale.—
The day is far declined:
The sun descends: the stilly evening comes;
But yet Panthea has not moved: her eye
Is open still—and looks upon the corse.
The chilly evening gale begins to wave
Her golden tresses—and along the vast
And dark'ning vale the mournful spirit sighs
Of the departed day. To dress the slain
In funeral ornaments—with timid mien
And timid hand, the weeping women come;—
And standing nigh the palanquin is seen,
Whose sturdy bearers with dejected look
Wait their loved mistress to her tent to bear.
Gently the mutilated corse they move:
Gently, the lovely mourner from the earth
They raise; but she is icy cold—her limbs—
Her beauteous, pliant limbs are stiffening:—still
Her azure eye is fix'd upon the earth;
But is there animation in it?—No!
Panthea was no more!—
The sun descends: the stilly evening comes;
But yet Panthea has not moved: her eye
Is open still—and looks upon the corse.
The chilly evening gale begins to wave
Her golden tresses—and along the vast
And dark'ning vale the mournful spirit sighs
Of the departed day. To dress the slain
In funeral ornaments—with timid mien
And timid hand, the weeping women come;—
And standing nigh the palanquin is seen,
Whose sturdy bearers with dejected look
Wait their loved mistress to her tent to bear.
127
Gently, the lovely mourner from the earth
They raise; but she is icy cold—her limbs—
Her beauteous, pliant limbs are stiffening:—still
Her azure eye is fix'd upon the earth;
But is there animation in it?—No!
Panthea was no more!—
In Thymbra's vast
And silent vale, a monumental pile
Told to the gazing traveller, that a king,
And beauteous queen, there in each other's arms
Slept their last sleep:—the bravest he of men,
And she of women loveliest. Their names
Were—Abradates and Panthea.
And silent vale, a monumental pile
Told to the gazing traveller, that a king,
And beauteous queen, there in each other's arms
Slept their last sleep:—the bravest he of men,
And she of women loveliest. Their names
Were—Abradates and Panthea.
131
A DRAMATIC SKETCH.
Scene—Sparta. The shade of Leonidas, brought by the ministers of Pluto from the Infernal Regions at the commencement of the 19th century, that he may contemplate the ravages of Time on his beloved native place. From the hill of the Citadel he looks anxiously around, and in an angry and disappointed tone ex- claims to the attending spirits—
Why do ye mock me thus?—
Ye said I should behold my native place,
Immortal Sparta:—mother of the race
Invincible:—the scourge of tyranny,
The dread of mightiest monarchs, and the home
Of persecuted freedom.—I had thought
To see a city, in whose boundless scope
Whole nations might have wander'd;—where the eye
Might vainly stretch to compass at a view
Its mighty bulk: where, strong and bold as gods,
Her sons might lift their foreheads to the sky,
Happy and free,—the wonder of the earth.
Three thousand years almost of aiding time
Must have done this, or more: all Greece perhaps
May now be only Sparta.—Taunting things!
Why do ye mock me thus?—
Spirit.
Ye said I should behold my native place,
Immortal Sparta:—mother of the race
Invincible:—the scourge of tyranny,
The dread of mightiest monarchs, and the home
132
To see a city, in whose boundless scope
Whole nations might have wander'd;—where the eye
Might vainly stretch to compass at a view
Its mighty bulk: where, strong and bold as gods,
Her sons might lift their foreheads to the sky,
Happy and free,—the wonder of the earth.
Three thousand years almost of aiding time
Must have done this, or more: all Greece perhaps
May now be only Sparta.—Taunting things!
Why do ye mock me thus?—
Illustrious shade,
We mock thee not.—Look round again, and mark
If aught recal thy Sparta.—
Leonidas.
Scoffing fiend!—
Desist thy lying tale;—nor vex my soul
With unendurable thoughts.—It cannot be.
The glorious city towers above the earth,
133
Sounds through the echoing universe. Her arms
Flash from the furthest regions of the East,
Where the bright sun gets up, to where he sinks,
Quench'd in the bottomless Ocean of the West.—
Her splendour cannot darken, nor her walls
Moulder in endless ages;—nor her sons
Forget their fathers' deeds,—But ye would sport
With mortal weakness;—sneer at patriot's warmth,
And laugh to scorn the pangs of wretched man,
Who dreads his country's ruin.—If not so,
Why place me here, perchance in Afric's wilds,
For all is drear and foreign to my gaze;
Why point with mocking finger to yon piles
Of black and hideous ruins, and pronounce
Th' adored name of Sparta?—Wherefore this?—
Spirit.
Unhappy Greek!—We would not mock thy woe:
Self-moved we come not, but by his command
134
(A long pause.)
Doth nought recal the hill, where proudly rose
Famed Sparta's Citadel?—
(an anxious silence.)
Do yon dark walls,
Arch'd like the crescent moon, suggest no trace
Of that vast theatre, where thousands raised
The thunders of applause? 'Tis silent now:
And the grey lizard, its sole tenant, crawls
With noiseless foot from forth the gloomy shade,
To bask in the hot sun. Thou seem'st o'erwhelm'd
With dread, yet unbelieving.—Cast thy look
On yon red distant mountains; there at least
Time hath not brought destruction.—
Arch'd like the crescent moon, suggest no trace
Of that vast theatre, where thousands raised
The thunders of applause? 'Tis silent now:
And the grey lizard, its sole tenant, crawls
With noiseless foot from forth the gloomy shade,
To bask in the hot sun. Thou seem'st o'erwhelm'd
With dread, yet unbelieving.—Cast thy look
On yon red distant mountains; there at least
Time hath not brought destruction.—
Know'st thou not
The hills of Menalaion? Winding still
'Tween yonder rising grounds, doth not thine eye
Behold Eurotas?—and, in shapeless heaps,
Choking the stream o'er which it proudly spann'd,
Babyx, the ancient bridge?
The hills of Menalaion? Winding still
'Tween yonder rising grounds, doth not thine eye
Behold Eurotas?—and, in shapeless heaps,
Choking the stream o'er which it proudly spann'd,
Babyx, the ancient bridge?
135
(with agony.)
I cannot tell—
This is some cheating vision, and mine eyes
Do look on things that be not.—Ah! forbear—
And torture me no more.—
Spirit.
Look once again—
View to the North yon tow'ring hill:—the vale
That meets its base hath not a ruin left;—
No stone that tells of human labours there:
Yet on that naked plain thou must recal
The public place, with all the princely piles
That rear'd their heads to heaven.
Leonidas
(in despair.)
Oh! 'tis too true!
Sparta is gone!—Capricious Jove, thy hand
Hath wrought this matchless misery:—the world
Bringing its force united—from the boy
Who strains his maiden bow-string to the wretch
Whose aged arm can barely lift the sword,
All in one league combined—had not sufficed
For such unequall'd ruin.
(A band of Turks, with martial music and all their
military parade, march in the distance.)
Sparta is gone!—Capricious Jove, thy hand
Hath wrought this matchless misery:—the world
Bringing its force united—from the boy
Who strains his maiden bow-string to the wretch
Whose aged arm can barely lift the sword,
136
For such unequall'd ruin.
What are these?
Is this some holiday?—and can the Greeks
Unfeeling, unabash'd, with dance and song,
And quaint attire, pass Sparta's awful grave,
Nor dread from vengeful Heav'n an equal fate?
Is this some holiday?—and can the Greeks
Unfeeling, unabash'd, with dance and song,
And quaint attire, pass Sparta's awful grave,
Nor dread from vengeful Heav'n an equal fate?
Spirit.
Wretched Leonidas! the arm of Jove
Hath not destroy'd thy city: whom thou see'st
Are Turks, a barbarous race. Greece is no more—
Sparta—and Athens—Argos—Corinth—all
The glorious family of Greece are fallen:—
Her sons are slaves—her very name is rased
From out the book of nations.—Manners—laws—
Customs—and language—all are swept away
In one vast desolation: and yon bands
137
Deem'd unrespective jesters—wield the scourge
That bows the Grecian spirit to the dust:—
Sole lords and conquerors they.—
Leonidas
—(after a long pause and in unspeakable agony).
Take me to hell again.
THE END.
| The Last Days of Herculaneum | |