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awaken

             Which godlessly slept;

           Their palaces shaken,

             Their offences unwept!

           Their rolling cars all

             Meet and crash in the street;

           And the crowds, for a pall,

             Find flames round their feet!

           Numberless dead,

           Round these high towers spread,

           Still sleep in the shade

           By their rugged heights made;

           Colossi of rocks

           In ill-steadied blocks!

           So hang on a wall

           Black ants, like a pall!

           To escape is in vain

           From this horrible rain!

             Alas! all things die;

           In the lightning's red flash

           The bridges all crash;

           'Neath the tiles the flame creeps;

           From the fire-struck steeps

           Falls on the pavements below,

           All lurid in glow,

             Rolling down from on high!

           Beneath every spark,

             The red, tyrannous fire

           Mounts up in the dark

             Ever redder and higher;

           More swiftly than steed

             Uncontrolled, see it pass!

               Horrid idols all twist,

               By the crumbling flame kissed

           In their infamous dread,

             Shrivelled members of brass!

           It grows angry, flows on,

           Silver towers fall down

           Unforeseen, like a dream

           In its green and red stream,

           Which lights up the walls

           Ere one crashes and falls,

           Like the changeable scale

           Of a lizard's bright mail.

           Agate, porphyry, cracks

           And is melted to wax!

           Bend low to their doom

           These stones of the tomb!

           E'en the great marble giant

           Called Nabo, sways pliant

           Like a tree; whilst the flare

             Seemed each column to scorch

             As it blazed like a torch

           Round and round in the air.

           The magi, in vain,

           From the heights to the plain

           Their gods' images carry

             In white tunic: they quake —

             No idol can make

           The blue sulphur tarry;

           The temple e'en where they meet,

           Swept under their feet

           In the folds of its sheet!

           Turns a palace to coal!

           Whence the straitened cries roll

           From its terrified flock;

             With incendiary grips

           It loosens a block,

             Which smokes and then slips

           From its place by the shock;

             To the surface first sheers,

             Then melts, disappears,

           Like the glacier, the rock!

           The high priest, full of years,

           On the burnt site appears,

             Whence the others have fled.

           Lo! his tiara's caught fire

           As the furnace burns higher,

             And pale, full of dread,

           See, the hand he would raise

           To tear his crown from the blaze

             Is flaming instead!

           Men, women, in crowds

           Hurry on – the fire shrouds

             And blinds all their eyes

           As, besieging each gate

           Of these cities of fate

           To the conscience-struck crowd,

           In each fiery cloud,

             Hell appears in the skies!

IX

           Men say that then, to see his foe's sad fall

           As some old prisoner clings to his prison wall,

           Babel, accomplice of their guilt, was seen

           O'er the far hills to gaze with vision keen!

           And as was worked this dispensation strange,

           A wondrous noise filled the world's startled range;

           Reached the dull hearing that deep, direful sound

           Of their sad tribe who live below the ground.

X

           'Gainst this pitiless flame who condemned could prevail?

           Who these walls, burnt and calcined, could venture to scale?

               Yet their vile hands they sought to uplift,

           Yet they cared still to ask from what God, by what law?

           In their last sad embrace, 'midst their honor and awe,

               Of this mighty volcano the drift.

           'Neath great slabs of marble they hid them in vain,

           'Gainst this everliving fire, God's own flaming rain!

               'Tis the rash whom God seeks out the first;

           They call on their gods, who were deaf to their cries,

           For the punishing flame caused their cold granite eyes

               In tears of hot lava to burst!

           Thus away in the whirlwind did everything pass,

           The man and the city, the soil and its grass!

              

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