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Shrieking, falls she on her chosen-
Ah! she cannot wake the dead ;-
Soon those limbs all chill and frozen

To the funeral flame are sped.

She hears the loud Brahmin-she hears the death songShe runs-and she raves-and she pierces the throng— "Who art thou?—what hurries him hence to the dead?"

Before the bier her form she throws,
And her wailings rend the air-
"Give me back my lovely spouse—
On the pile I'll seek him there.
And to ashes must they fall,

Those dear limbs, so heavenly bright?
Mine he was! mine, more than all !
Ah! one only blissful night."

But sternly the priest sings!" We carry the old,
Long wasting in wanness, and chilling in cold-
We carry the young from gay youth's giddy flight."

"To the Brahmin's lore give ear—
This was ne'er thy husband true—
Liv'st thou still a Bayadere,
Wedded rights are not thy due.
Shade alone with substance flies
To the darkling realms of night-
Wife alone with husband dies-
'Tis her glory-'tis her right.

Then sound the loud timbrels!-the holy plaints ring!
Oh, take him, ye Gods!-take the pride of the spring!
Oh take the fair youth to celestial light!"

At the choir's unpitying shout,

Deeper woe her bosom wrings;

With streaming hair and arm stretched out,

Midst the flaming death she springs

Lo! above the flames they hover

Youth and maid together rise

In his arms, the immortal lover

Bears her with him to the skies.

Bright joy fills the gods for the souls they reclaim--
The lost sons of error, on pinions of flame,

Immortally soar to repose in the skies.

ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS.

From Atherstone's Last Days of Herculaneum.

Darkness intense

Soon cover'd all things ;-and the close, hot air,
Felt suffocating. Some who linger'd still,
Or ere retiring to their sleepless beds,
Look'd out into the night, saw on the sky,
Tow'rds where Vesuvius rear'd his giant head,
A crimson tinge :-and in the stilly air
The deep and soften'd thunder-mutterings heard.

A night of gloom and horrors !-Not a breath
Of air was felt:-the thick hot atmosphere
Came on their parching lips, as from the mouth
Of opening furnace. Darkness, like a pall

Of deepest shade, hung o'er :-no heaven, no earth,
No faintest outline of the temple's form

Against the sky :-the uplifted hand was viewless :-
Scarce could the clogg'd and heavy air transmit
The labouring sound: scarce could the torch's flare
Pierce through the gloom; and he who by its red
And dusky light then wander'd through the streets,
Lonely and sad, saw not the earth he press'd.
Oh! for the tempest now! the clattering hail!
Whirlwinds! tornadoes! deluge-bringing rain!
Aught but this heavy-pressing firmament-
This thick and torrid air-this tomblike night!

Who sleeps within the city?-He, the sire,
Who, labouring hard for breath, with burning brow,
And tense and blood-shot eye,-yet fans the cheek
Of his convulsed and gasping child?

Sleeps she,

The wretched mother, who the fiery skin

Of her delirious infant laves ;-the lips

That can no longer drain the dried-up breast,
Wets with the water from the once cool well,
Itself now scarce less burning?

Sleeps the youth,

The new-made bridegroom, by the virgin bride Outstretch'd,-who prays, though with unmoving lips, For aid in their last hour of agony?

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Reposes she, the lovely youthful maid
Before whom lies, in his last pangs convulsed,
The aged sickly parent? His pale cheek
Has ta'en a purple flush-his eye is wild-
His wither'd hands he tosses to and fro-
Wheezes and snorts for breath-and seems to catch
At shadows. "Water," then he feebly cries ;-
She puts it to his lips-she bathes his brow
She sprinkles o'er his venerable face :-

"Hot-hot-" he murmurs-"no, 'tis burning hot-" "Oh! water-cold-cold water." Muttering thus, His eye-balls fix-he stiffens-gasps-and dies.

Who sleeps within the city?

Sleep who shall wake no more.

Soundly they

He on whom fell

The crushing ruin :-who by the red bolt

Perish'd-the fear-slain wretch who where he died

Still sits erect and cold-and stiff: with eye

Staring and fix'd-looking upon the night

The dead sleep in the city.

Heavily

Drag on the hours: a year of common life
Less slow than such a night.-What is it waves
At intervals along the inky sky

Like a dark blood-red flag? It casts no light
By which to see ;-yet 'tis not for the time
That depth intense of blackness, but a dim
And dusky red obscurity:-such tinge
As sometimes on the low and heavy clouds
Of midnight by th' horizon trembling hangs

Scarce seen-from some far distant watch-fire thrown.

"'Tis the vast flame that through the sea of smoke From high Vesuvius' black and sulphurous mouth Bursts for an instant forth,-then sinks again, In that dense vapour quench'd.-They who behold, Marvel and fear-yet know not whence it is.

Whence come those distant thunder-breathings deep, That fall with gentlest touch upon the ear,

Yet seem to fill the heavens--and reach earth's centre ?

'Tis from that mountain's vast and hollow womb, Now first conceiving subterranean fire,

And belching earthly thunders.-Thousands hear
That warning voice-yet none its meaning know.-

What is it moves with gentle heave the ground;
Like softest swell of ocean in a calm-

Now rests-then comes again with tremblings soft,
As from the rumbling of a loaded wain--

Felt, tho' not heard?-All know the earthquake's tread,
And would, but cannot, flee.-

How drear the night!

Oh! when will morning come?-the tapers all
That measure out the hours are long since spent
But yet there is no day. Is the great sun
Consumed too,-or darken'd?-this the time,
So oft foretold, when nature shall expire,-
The heavens be blotted out-and earth in flames
Shall pass away?

Such thoughts o'er many came

As, slowly yielding now, the pall of night
Changed to a dingy red:-like a vast arch
Of iron look'd the heavens when first the heat,
Deep penetrating, to a lurid tinge

Begins to turn its blackness:-redder now-
And redder still the awful concave glows-
Till in its bloody, but uncertain glare,

The bolder may walk forth..-Man meets with man,
And starts as at a fiend :-for from the hot
And fiery sky all things have caught their hue :-
No sweet varieties of colour here

As in the blessed sunshine :-no soft tints

Like those of sweet May-morn,-when day's bright god Looks smiling from behind delicious mists;

Throwing his slant rays on the glistening grass,

Where, 'gainst the rich deep green, the cowslip hangs
His elegant bells of purest gold :-the pale,

Sweet perfumed primrose lifts its face to heaven
Like the full, artless gaze of infancy:-

The little ray-crown'd daisy peeps beneath
When the tall neighbour grass, heavy with dew,

Bows down its head beneath the fresh'ning breeze ;-
Where oft in long dark lines the waving trees
Throw their soft shadows on the sunny fields:
Where in the music-breathing hedge, the thorn
And pearly white May blossom full of sweets,
Hang out the virgin flag of spring, entwined
With dripping honeysuckles whose sweet breath
Sinks to the heart-recalling with a sigh
Dim recollected feelings of the days

Of youth and early love.-Oh! none of these,
Nature's too oft unprized treasures, bless'd
That scene of woe. The pure white marble shaft

That bears aloft the princely portico

Of the proud palace-the black dungeon gate:-
The pallid statue o'er some honour'd tomb

That ever drooping hangs ;-and the bronze Mars
That bares his blood-stain'd sword:-the solemn tree
That o'er the sepulchre his dark green boughs
Hangs melancholy;—and the vivid flower
That in its course still looks upon the sun :-
The deep brown earth, and the fresh garden tints
Of emerald, with flowers of every stain

The rainbow's dye can give ;-the beggar's rags,
And the cerulean blue of beauty's robe ;-
All in one undistinguishable hue

Are clad, of lurid redness. In the streets
Thousands of fire-tinged figures roam amazed
And fearful. "Is this morn?" they ask,

“Oh! what a night we've passed!-but is this morn?
"And what is that, high in the gory clouds,
"That orb of brighter crimson?" On it gaze
Unnumber'd wide and wistful eyes. By heavens !
It is the sun in his meridian fields!

Where hath his morning splendor slept unseen?
-In that dense sea above of vapour, fire,
Darkness, and storms-his morning splendor slept,
And soon again he'll sink. Devoted race!
Your last bright sun has set:-gaze while ye may
Even on that dark red orb :-fast close around
Th' impenetrable clouds :-sulphureous fogs
Roll on-light feathery ashes mix, and fill
Th' unwholesome air: the firmament grows dark,
The sun's red disk seems melting in the clouds.
Look-miserable mortals!-look your last:
A faint dim outline only can ye trace:

What see ye now?-rests he behind a cloud ?—
No! no-ye gaze in vain !—his beam is quench'd!—
Το you
for ever quench'd! High in the heavens
He rides sublime in his immortal course,
And shall for ever roll; but to your eyes
His beams return no more. Far different lights
Must gild your few remaining hours:—the flash
Of the death-dealing lightning-the red glare
Of populous streets in flames-the sparkles dread
Of moony meteors-and an atmosphere
With burning cinders fill'd-and rocks of fire.

INDEX.

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