What wonder this?-we
ask the lympid well,
O earth! of thee-and
from thy solemn womb
What yieldest thou?-is
there life in the abyss-
Doth a new race beneath the lava
dwell?
Returns the past, awakening from
the tomb?
Rome-Greece!-Oh,
come!-Behold-behold! for this!
Our living world-the
old Pompeii sees;
And built anew the town of Dorian
Hercules!
House upon house-its
silent halls once more
Opes the broad portico!-Oh,
haste and fill
Again those halls with life!-Oh,
pour along
Through the seven-vistad
theatre the throng!
Where are ye, mimes?-Come
forth, the steel prepare
For crowned Atrides, or Orestes
haunt,
Ye choral Furies, with your dismal
chant!
The arch of triumph!-whither
leads it?-still
Behold the forum!-on
the curule chair
Where the majestic image? Lictors,
where
Your solemn fasces?-Place
upon his throne
The Praetor-here the
witness lead, and there
Bid the accuser stand
-O
God! how lone
The clear streets glitter in the
quiet day-
The footpath by the doors winding
its lifeless way!
The roofs arise in shelter, and
around
The desolate Atrium-every
gentle room
Wears still the dear familiar smile
of home!
Open the doors-the shops-on
dreary night
Let lusty day laugh down in jocund
light!
See the trim benches ranged in order!-See
The marble-tesselated floor-and there
The very walls are glittering livingly
With their clear colors. But the artist, where!
Sure but this instant he hath laid aside
Pencil and colors!-Glittering on the
eye
Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!-See
all
Arts gentle wreaths still fresh upon the
wall!
Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide
By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes
Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes,
Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance,
And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance
Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance]
Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds
Hovering-the Thyrsus plies.-Hurrah!-away
she speeds!
Come-come, why loiter
ye?-Here, here, how fair
The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn,
Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn!
On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.-
Ho!
Quick-quick, ye slaves, come-fire!-the
hearth prepare!
Ha! wilt thou sell?-this coin shall
pay thee-this,
Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!-Lo!
Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss
So-bring the light! The delicate
lamp!-what toil
Shaped thy minutest grace!-quick pour
the oil!
Yonder the fairy chest!-come, maid,
behold
The bridegrooms gifts-the armlets-they
are gold,
And paste out-feigning jewels!-lead
the bride
Into the odorous bath-lo! unguents still-
And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty
fill!
But where the men of old-perchance
a prize
More precious yet in yon papyrus
lies,
And see evn still the tokens
of their toil-
The waxen tablets-the
recording style.
The earth, with faithful watch,
has hoarded all!
Still stand the mute penates in
the hall;
Back to his haunts returns each
ancient god.
Why absent only from their ancient
stand
The priests?-waves Hermes
his Caducean rod,
And the winged victory struggles
from the hand.
Kindle the flame-behold
the altar there!
Long hath the god been worshipless-to
prayer.
© e-libr.com
feedback