'The loud and voluble talker is therefore an excellent shelter for those of weaker nerves, and will be found a useful ingredient in all mixed companies. W. CHAMBERS. 101. The Last Days of Herculaneum. "TWAS noon - yet night: In thicker showers the flaky ashes fell; Louder and deeper swelled the thunder's voice; With stronger throes the laboring earthquake heaved : Hotter and hotter grew the breathless air. What thought can reach, What language can express, the agonies — The horrors of that hour! That threatened to devour · An earth beneath an atmosphere That burned and choked ashes that fell for rain thunders that groaned And heaved below - and solid darkness round, So passed the time; Still fell the ashy showers; still rocked the earth; Still with increasing rage Vesuvius spoke In thunders; still a pitchy darkness hung Had perished; thousands gasped 'twixt life and death: But miserable above all were they, The dungeon captives, by their ponderous chains Cheering though vain; their subterranean cells No safeguard for the thunders rolled above, And through the earth below; the lightnings pierced There was a man, A Roman soldier, for some daring deed He had a son; 'twas a rosy boy, A little faithful copy of his sire In face and gesture. She died that gave him birth; and since, the child Every spori The father shared and heightened. But at length The captive's lot He felt in all its bitterness; the walls Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh And heart-heaved groan. His tale was known, and touched His jailer with compassion; and the boy, Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm He was a poisoned arrow in the breast With earliest morn Of that first day of darkness and amaze, for them The day, the night, Dragged slowly by; nor did they know the fate Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw His body burned with feverish heat; his chains Fearful and ominous, arose and died Like the sad moanings of November's wind Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk, A troubled, dreamy sleep. He slept at last, Well — had he slept 102. The Same, continued. Soon the storm Burst forth; the lightnings glanced; the air Shook with the thunders. They awoke; they sprung Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound Silence, And blackest darkness! With intensest awe The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought Jarring and lifting—and the massive walls Heard harshly grate and strain; yet knew he not While evils undefined and yet to come Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound Fate had already given. Where, man of woe! Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou callest His name in vain; - he cannot answer thee. Loudly the father called upon his child; No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously He searched their couch of straw; with headlong haste Groped darkling on the earth; no child was there. Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes And strains and snatches- and with dreadful cries Raging to break his toils to and fro bounds. But see! the ground is opening; a blue light The father saw, And all his fury fled; a dead calm fell That instant on him; speechless, fixed he stood, And, with a look that never wandered, gazed Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes Were not yet closed; and round those pouting lips The wonted smile returned. Silent and pale The father stands; no tear is in his eye: The thunders bellow, but he hears them not; It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground, Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy! |