POMPEII. % Poem WHICH OBTAINED THE CHANCELLOR'S MEDAL AT THE tfamUritrgr (tfommrucrment July, 1819. BY THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY, OF TRINITY COLLEGE. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015 https://archive.org/details/pompeiipoemwhichOOmaca POMPEII. Oh! land, to Mem'ry and to Freedom dear, Land of the melting lyre and conqu'ring spear, Land of the vine-clad hill, the fragrant grove, Of arts and arms, of Genius and of Love, Hear, fairest Italy. Tho' now no more Thy glitt ring eagles awe th' Atlantic shore, Nor at thy feet the gorgeous Orient flings The blood-bought treasures of her tawny Kings, Tho' vanish'd all that form'd thine old renown, The laurel garland, and the jewell'd crown, Th' avenging poniard, the victorious sword, Which rear'd thine empire, or thy rights restor'd, Yet still the constant Muses haunt thy shore. And love to linger where they dwelt of yore. If e'er of old they deign'd, with fav'ring smile, To tread the sea-girt shores of Albion's isle, To smooth with classic arts our rugged tongue, And warm with classic glow the British song, Oil! bid them snatch their silent harps which wuw On the lone oak that shades thy Maro's grave, 20 And sweep with magic hand the slumbering strings, To fire the poet. — For thy clime he sings, Thy scenes of gay delight and wild despair, Thy vary'd forms of awful and of fair. How rich that climate's sweets, how wild its storms, L 25 What charms array it, and what rage deforms,, Well have thy monld'ring walls, Pompeii, known, Deck'd in those charms, and by that rage o'erthrown Sad City, gaily dawnM thy latest day, And pour'd its radiance on a scene as gay. 30 The leaves scarce rustled in the sighing breeze ; In azure dimples curl'd the sparkling seas, And, as the golden tide of light they quaff'd, Campania's sunny meads and vineyards laugh'd, While gleam'd each lichen'd oak and giant pine, 35 On the far sides of swarthy Apennine. Then mirth and music thro' Pompeii rung ; Then verdant wreaths on all her portals hung; Her sons with solemn rite and jocund lay Hail'd the glad splendours of that festal day. 40 With fillets bound the hoary priests advance, And rosy virgins braid the choral dance. The rugged warrior here unbends awhile His iron front, and deigns a transient smile: There, frantic with delight, the ruddy boy Scarce treads on earth, and bounds and laughs with joy. From ev'ry crowded altar perfumes rise In billowy clouds of fragrance to the skies. The milk-white monarch of the herd they lead, With gilded horns, at yonder shrine to bleed; And while the victim crops the broider'd plain, And frisks and gambols tow'rds the destin'd fane, They little deem that like himself they stray To death, unconscious, o'er a flow'ry way, Heedless, like him, th' impending stroke await, And sport and wanton on the brink of fate. What vails it that where yonder heights aspire With ashes pil'd, and scath'd with rills of fire, Gigantic phantoms dimly seem'd to glide, In misty files, along the mountain's side, To view with threat'ning scowl your fated lands, And tow'rd your city point their shadowy hands? In vain celestial omens prompted fear, And nature's signals spoke the ruin near. In vain thro' many a night ye view'd from far The meteor flag of elemental war Unroll its blazing folds from yonder height, In fearful sign of earth's intestine fight. In vain Vesuvius groan'd with wrath supprest, And mutter' d thunder in his burning breast. Long since the Eagle from that flaming peak Hath soar'd with screams a safer nest to seek. Aw'd by th' infernal beacon's fitful glare, The howling fox hath left his wonted lair; Nor dares the browzing goat in vent'rous leap To spring, as erst, from dizzy steep to steep. — Man only mocks the peril. Man alone Defies the sulph'rous flame, the warning groan. While instinct, humbler guardian, wakes and saves, Proud reason sleeps, nor knows the doom it braves. But see, the op'ning theatre invites The fated myriads to its gay delights. In, in, they swarm, tumultuous as the roar Of foaming breakers on a rocky shore. Th' enraptur'd throng in breathless transport views The gorgeous temple of the Tragic Muse. There, while her wand in shadowy pomp arrays Ideal scenes, and forms of other days, Fair as the hopes of youth, a radiant band, The sister arts around her footstool stand, To deck their Queen, and lend a milder grace To the stern beauty of that awful face. Far, far, around the ravish'd eye surveys The sculptur'd forms of Gods and Heroes blaze. Above, the echoing roofs the peal prolong Of lofty converse, or melodious song, While, as the tones of passion sink or swell, Admiring thousands own the moral spell, Melt with the melting strains of fancy'd woe, With terror sicken, or with transport glow. Oh! for a voice like that which peal'd of old Thro' Salem's cedar courts and shrines of gold, 7 And in wild accents round the trembling dome. Proclaimed the havoc of avenging Rome, While ev'ry palmy arch and sculptur'd tow'r 10.5 Shook with the footsteps of the parting pow'r. Such voice might check your tears, which idly stream For the vain phantoms of the poet's dream, Might bid those terrors rise, those sorrows flow, For other perils, and for nearer woe. 1 10 The hour is come. Ev'n now the sulph'rous cloud Involves the city in its fun'ral shroud, And far along Campania's azure sky- Expands its dark and boundless canopy. The Sun, tho' throu'd on heav'n's meridian height, 115 Burns red and rayless thro' that sickly night. Each bosom felt at once the shudd'ring thrill. At once the music stopp'd. The song was still. None in that cloud's portentous shade might trace The fearful changes of another's face: 120 But thro' that horrid stillness each could hear His neighbour's throbbing heart beat high with fear. A moment's pause succeeds. Then wildly rise Grief's sobbing plaints and terror's frantic cries. The gates recoil; and tow'rds the narrow pass 125 In wild confusion rolls the living mass, Death,- — when thy shadowy sceptre waves away From his sad couch the pris'ner of decay, Tho' friendship view the close with glist'ning eye, And love's fond lips imbibe the parting sigh, 130 8 By torture rack'd, by kindness sooth'd in vain. The soul still clings to being and to pain, But when have wilder terrors cloth'd thy brow, Or keener torments edg'd thy dart than now, When with thy regal horrors vainly strove 136 The laws of nature, and the power of Love? On mothers babes in vain for mercy call, Beneath the feet of brothers, brothers fall. Behold the dying wretch in vain upraise, Tow'rds yonder well-known face the accusing gaze, 140 See trampl'd to the earth th' expiring maid Clings round her lover's feet, and shrieks for aid. Vain is th' imploring glance, the frenzy 'd cry; All, all is fear; — To succour is to die. — Saw ye how wild, how red, how broad a light 145 Burst on the darkness of that mid-day night, As fierce Vesuvius scatter'd o'er the vale His drifted flames and sheets of burning hail, Shook hell's wan light'nings from his blazing cone, And gilded heav'n with meteors not its own: 150 The morn all blushing rose ; but sought in vain The snowy villas and the flow'ry plain, The purple hills with marshall'd vineyards gay, The domes that sparkled in the sunny ray. Where art or nature late had deck'd the scene 155 With blazing marble or with spangled green, There, streak'd by many a fiery torrent's bed, A boundless waste of hoary ashes spread. Along that dreary waste where lately rung The festal lay which smiling virgins sung, ifiO Where rapture echoed from the warbling lute, And the gay dance resounded, all is mute. — Mute ! — Is it Fancy shapes that wailing sound Which faintly murmurs from the blasted ground, Or live there still, who, breathing in the tomb, l6'5 Curse the dark refuge which delays their doom, In massive vaults, on which th' incumbent plain And ruin'd city heap their weight in vain ? Oh ! who may sing that hour of mortal strife, When Nature calls on Death, yet clings to life? 170 Who paint the wretch that draws sepulchral breath, A living pris'ner in the house of Death ? Pale as the corpse which loads the fun'ral pile, With face convulsed that writhes a ghastly smile, Behold him speechless move with hurry'd pace, \7o Incessant, round his dungeon V cavern'd space, Now shriek in terror, and now groan in pain, Gnaw his white lips, and strike his burning brain, Till Fear o'erstrain'd in stupor dies away, And Madness wrests her victim from dismay. 180 His arms sink down; his wild and stony eye Glares without sight on blackest vacancy. He feels not, sees not; wrapp'd in senseless trance His soul is still and listless as his glance. One cheerless blank, one rayless mist is there, 185 Thoughts, senses, passions, live not with despair. 10 Haste, Famine, haste, to urge the destin'd close, And lull the horrid scene to stern repose. Yet ere, dire Fiend, thy lingering tortures cea.M , And all be hush'd in still sepulchral peace, 190 Those caves shall wilder, darker deeds behold Than e'er the voice of song or fable told, Whate'er dismay may prompt, or madness dare, Feasts of the grave, and banquets of despair. — Hide, hide, the scene; and o'er the blasting sight 1^5 Fling the dark veil of ages and of night. Go, seek Pompeii now : — with pensive tread Roam thro' the silent city of the dead. Explore each spot, where still, in ruin grand, Her shapeless piles and tott'ring columns stand, 200 Where the pale ivy's clasping wreaths o'ershade The ruin'd temple's moss-clad colonnade, Or violets on the hearth's cold marble wave, And muse in silence on a people's grave. Fear not. — No sign of death thine eyes shall scare, 305 No, all is beauty, verdure, fragrance there. A gentle slope includes the fatal ground With od'rous shrubs and tufted myrtles erown'd, Beneath, o'ergrown with grass, or wreath'd with flow'rs, Lie tombs and temples, columns, baths, and towers. 210 As if in mock'ry, Nature seems to dress In all her charms the beauteous wilderness, And bids her gayest flow'rets twine and bloom In sweet profusion o'er a city's tomb. 11 With roses here she decks th' untrodden path, 215 With lilies fringes there the stately bath, Th' Acanthus' spreading foliage here she weaves Round the gay capital which mocks its leaves, There hangs the sides of ev'ry mould'ring room With tap'stry from her own fantastic loom, 220 Wall-fiow'rs and weeds, whose glowing hues supply With simple grace the purple's Tyrian dye. The ruin'd city sleeps in fragrant shade, Like the pale corpse of some Athenian maid, Whose marble arms, cold brows, and snowy neck 225 The fairest flow'rs of fairest climates deck, Meet types of her whose form their wreaths array, Of radiant beauty, and of swift decay. Advance, and wander on thro* crumbling halls, Thro' prostrate gates, and ivy'd pedestals, 230 Arches, whose echoes now no chariots rouse, Tombs, on whose summits goats undaunted browze. See, where yon ruin'd wall on earth reclines, Thro* weeds and moss the half-seen painting shines, Still vivid 'midst the dewy cowslips glows, 235 Or blends its colours with the blushing rose. Thou lovely, ghastly scene of fair decay, In beauty awful, and 'midst horrors gay, Renown more wide, more bright shall gild thy name, Than thy wild charms or fearful doom could claim, 240 Immortal spirits, in whose deathless song Latium and Athens yet their reign prolong. 12 And from their thrones of fame and empire hurl'd, Still sway the sceptre of the mental world, You, in whose breasts the flames of Pindus beam'd, 245 Whose copious lips with rich persuasion stream'd, Whose minds unravell'd nature's mystic plan, Or trac'd the mazy labyrinth of man; Bend, glorious spirits, from your blissful bow'rs, And broider'd couches of unfading flow'rs, '2jO While round your locks th' Elysian garlands blow, With sweeter odours, and with brighter glow, Once more, immortal shades, atoning Fame Repairs the honours of each glorious name. Behold Pompeii's op'ning vaults restore 255 The long-lost treasures of your ancient lore, The vestal radiance of poetic fire, The stately buskin, and the tuneful lyre, The wand of eloquence, whose magic sway The sceptres and the swords of earth obey, 260 And ev'ry mighty spell, whose strong controul Could nerve or melt, could fire or soothe the soul. And thou, sad city, raise thy drooping head, And share the honours of the glorious dead. Had Fate reprieved thee till the frozen North 265 Pour'd in wild swarms its hoarded millions forth, Till blazing cities mark'd where Alboi'n trod, Or Europe quak'd beneath the scourge of God, No lasting wreath had grac'd thy fun'ral pall, » No Fame redecm'd the horrors of thy fall. L J7() 13 Now shall thy deathless mem'ry live entwin'd With all that conquers, rules, or charms the mind, Each lofty thought of Poet or of Sage, Each grace of Virgil's lyre, or Tully's page. Like their* s whose Genius consecrates thy tomb, 27-5 Thy fame shall snatch from time a greener bloom, Shall spread where'er the Muse has rear'd her throne, And live renown'd in accents yet unknown; Earth's utmost bounds shall join the glad acclaim, And distant Camus bless Pompeii's name. c 280 NOTES Line 20. — See Eustace's description of the Tomb of Virgil, on the Neapolitan coast. Line 59. — Dio Cassius relates that figures of gigantic size appeared, for some time previous to the destruction of Pompeii, on the summits of Vesuvius. This appearance was probably occasioned by the fantastic forms which the smoke from the crater of the volcano assumed. Line 217- — The capital of the Corinthian pillar is carved, as is well known, in imitation of the Acanthus. Mons. de Chateaubriand, as I have found since this Poem was written, has employed the same image in his Travels. Line 224. — It is the custom of the modern Greeks to adorn corpses profusely with flowers. Line 26'8. — The well-known name of Attila.