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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
POMPEII, by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY 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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A GIRL OF POMPEII by EDWARD SANDFORD MARTIN NARCISSUS: A POMPEIIAN BRONZE by VYACHESLAV IVANOVICH IVANOV AT POMPEII by DORA SIGERSON SHORTER AT POMPEII by AMELIA WOODWARD TRUESDELL VOLCANOES by BELLA AKHMADULINA BACK HOME IN POMPEII by JOHN CIARDI ON FIRST LOOKING INTO MICHAEL GRANT'S CITIES OF VESUVIUS by GAVIN EWART POMPEII: A.D. 79 by EMILY FRAGOS ANACREONTIC by FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA COLUMBUS [JANUARY, 1487] by LYDIA HUNTLEY SIGOURNEY |
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