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!
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.
’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!
