Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, POMPEII, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY


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POMPEII, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: It was the evening of the day of god
Last Line: Shall be a hymn of gratitude for thee.
Subject(s): Pompeii, Italy


On reading the "Tour in Italy and Switzerland" of the late Rev.
E. D Griffin.

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 nought amid 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 unlooked for, as the lightning flash
Rending 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!
Twining thyself around the living heart
By holiest memories, my prayer this night
Shall be a hymn of gratitude for thee.





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