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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 heayed: Hotter and hotter grew the breathless air.

What thought can reach,

What language can express, the agonies —

The horrors of that hour!

An earth beneath

an atmosphere

That threatened to devour

That burned and choked - ashes that fell for rain

Thunders that roared above-thunders that groaned
And heaved below - and solid darkness round,

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That like an ocean of black waters whelmed

And pressed upon the earth!

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
Impenetrable o'er all. Hundreds then

Had perished; thousands gasped 'twixt life and death:
All wanted aid, - but there was none to help.

But miserable above all were they,

The dungeon captives, by their ponderous chains

Chained to the ground, helpless and hopeless; far

From aid of man, or kindly sympathy,

Cheering though vain; their subterranean cells
No safeguard for the thunders rolled above,
And through the earth below; the lightnings pierced
Their dens profound, now first illumined bright

Only to show the swaying walls, — the earth

Cracking and closing back; the arched roofs
Heaving and grinding, stone 'gainst splintering stone:
Each moment threatening hideous ruin down,
Yet still delaying; while the wretches shrunk,
'As they looked up with agonized face,
And called on God to help.

There was a man,

A Roman soldier, for some daring deed

That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind.

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
Had been his father's solace and his care.

Every sport

The father shared and heightened. But at length
The rigorous law had grasped the sire, condemned
To fetters and to darkness.

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
With his loved presence that in every wound
Dropped healing. But in this terrific hour

He was a poisoned arrow in the breast
Where he had been a cure.

With earliest morn

Of that first day of darkness and amaze,

-

He came. The iron door was closed for them
Never to open more! The day, the night,

Dragged slowly by; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city. Well he heard
The pent up thunders in the earth beneath,
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air

Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping; and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by; nor would he wake
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state. On his low couch
The fettered soldier sunk, and with deep awe
Listened to fearful sounds; with upturned eye
To the great gods he breathed a prayer; then strove
To calm himself, and lose in sleep a while
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep;

His body burned with feverish heat; his chains
Clanked loud, although he moved not; deep in earth
Groaned unimaginable thunders; - sounds,

Fearful and ominous, arose and died

Like the sad moanings of November's wind

In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled

His blood that burned before; cold, clammy sweats

Came o'er him; then anon a fiery thrill

Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk,
And shivered as in fear; now upright leaped,

As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
And longed to cope with death.

A troubled, dreamy sleep.
Never to waken more!
But terrible his agony.

He slept at last,
Well - had he slept.
His hours are few,

102. The Same, continued.

Burst forth; the lightnings
Shook with the thunders.

Amazed upon their feet.

SOON the storm

glanced; the air
They awoke; they sprung
The dungeon glowed

A moment as in sunshine-then was dark ;
Again a flood of white flame fills the cell;
Dying away upon the dazzled eye

In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence,
And blackest darkness! With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fevered earth

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

his child; upon

No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously

He searched their couch of straw; with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,

Groped darkling on the earth; no child was there.
Again he called; again at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters, till the blood

Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flashed; he strained with arm extended far
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!
Yet still renewed; still round and round he goes,

And strains and snatches

and with dreadful cries

Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now;
He plants against the wall his feet; his chain
Grasps; tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple; yells and shrieks with rage,
And, like a desert lion in the snare

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Raging to break his toils to and fro bounds.
But see! the ground is opening; a blue light
Mounts, gently waving — noiseless; thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame;
But by its lustre, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child! his dress singed,
And over his serene face a dark line

Points out the lightning's track.

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;
The ground lifts like a sea; he knows it not;
The strong walls grind and gape; the vaulted roof
Takes shapes like bubble tossing in the wind;
See! he looks up and smiles; for death to him
Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace

Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die

It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near

Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy.

6L6

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