Zinzendorff and Other Poems/On Reading the Description of Pompeii, in the "Remains of the Rev. E. D. Griffin"
ON READING THE DESCRIPTION OF POMPEII, IN THE "REMAINS OF THE REV. E. D. GRIFFIN."
"In the garden of a villa was found the skeleton of a man, carrying keys in one hand and money and gold ornaments in the other. Before entering the gate of the city, you perceive the ruins of the guard-house, in which was found the skeleton of a soldier, with lance in hand."
Tour in Italy and Switzerland.
It was the evening of the day of God,
And silence reigned around. The waning lamp
Gleamed heavily, and gathering o'er my heart
There seemed a musing sadness.
Then thou cam'st,
Ethereal spirit! on thy classic wing,
Bidding me follow thee.
And so I sought
The ruined cities of Italia's plain,
And with thee o'er Pompeii's ashes trod,
Courting the friendship of a buried world.
'Tis fearful to behold the tide of life
In all the tossings of its fervid strength
Thus petrified, and every painted bark
That spread its gay sail o'er the rippling surge
Sealed to its depths.
Thou haggard skeleton,
Clutching with bony hand thy hoarded gold,
What boots it thus those massy keys to guard
When life's frail key turns in its ward no more?
Say! hadst thou naught amidst yon wreck, more dear
Than that encumbering dross? no priceless wealth
Of sweet affinity, no tender claim,
No eager turning of fond eyes to thine,
In that last hour of dread extremity?
Lo! yon grim soldier, faithful at his post,
Bold and unblenching, though a sea of fire
Closed o'er him, with its suffocating wave.
The reeking air grew hot, the blackened heavens
Shrank like a shriveled scroll, and mother earth,
Forgetful of her love, a traitress turned.
Yet still he fled not; though each element
Swerved from the eternal law, he firmly stood,
A Roman Sentinel.
Thus may we stand
In duty's armor, at our hour of doom,
Though on the climax of our joy, stern Death
Should steal unlocked for, as the lightning flash
Rendeth the summer-cloud.
But now, adieu,
My sainted guide. The midnight hour doth warn
Me from thy cherished pages, though methinks
The beauty of thy presence and thy voice,
Whose tones, melodious, charmed a listening throng,
Still linger near. It is not meet for us
To call thee brother, we who dwell in clay,
And find the impress of the earth so strong
Upon our purest gold.
Spirit of bliss!
Who twin'st thyself around the living heart
By holiest memories, my prayer this night
Shall be a hymn of gratitude for thee.