'Twas evening, and the sinking sun
Streamed brightly in the sky,
And cast his farewell beams abroad,
Like smiles of an approving god,
O'er plain, and mountain high--
O'er waving fields of floating gold
That, round his gorgeous pyre, were rolled,
And o'er the city's glistening spires,
That flashed beneath his blazing fires.
There lay that city;--wealth and pride
Had built their temples there,
And swift-winged commerce there had brought,
From many a clime, her trophies caught:--
From Indian isles afar,
The pearl, the beryl and the gem;--
But treasures, far outvieing them,
Were with that city's wealth combined--
The priceless treasures of the mind!
The sun went down, and night came o'er
That city's winding walls;
The white moon rose along the sky,
And looked down calm, and silently,
Upon the shouting halls,
Where music rang, and laughter went,
From lip to lip, in merriment;--
Where all was careless, heedless, light,
Besporting on that festal night!
An hour passed on;--what cry was that,
Which thrilled that city so?
What shrieks are those,--what means yon cloud
That wraps the temple, like a shroud,
And fills the breast with wo?--
What mean yon flames, that blazing, run
Along that mountain dark and dun?--
Why quakes the land,--why heaves the sea--
Why peal the heavens dreadfully?
Night left the earth;--the sun arose,
As wont, above the sky,
And looked,--not on that city bright,
Which he had left before the night,
With turrets gleaming high;
But on a black and blasted waste,
Dread desolation's hand had traced,--
Upon a flood of _lava_, where
Once proudly stood POMPEII fair!