4
The loveliest bosom's impress aye retaineth
Thy mass, gray Lava, Aphrodite's beaker!
From thee, my thirsty, love-sick spirit draineth
Love's draught, the fiery-clear, eternal liquor!
I see her, of Pompeii's dames the fairest,
Walk through the garden's bright and sunny places!
Well may it boast the sweetest flowers and rarest,
But sweeter, fairer she who through it paces.
Box and acanthus guard, like dwarfs, the peeping
Violet and rose, the balcony encloses;
Yet may her graceful bodice well be keeping
In watch and ward two fairer captive roses.
The fountain, like a silver column, gleameth,
Then falls, a million-fleecéd snow-shower weaving,
A weeping willow, silver-haired, it seemeth,—
But lovelier far her snowy bosom's heaving!
The spirit of the fire-mount, that same hour,
Looks from his flaming throne; he feels love's yearning!
When the gods hate you, mortals, dread their power,
But dread them more with love's wild passion burning!
His plans to hide, now, quick as lightning flashes,
His Moorish slave, that woolly cloud, he hurries,
And with a veil—alas, of dust and ashes!—
The house of love from all the people buries!
But now lest, on his way, the pimp should tarry,
His overseer, the storm, must follow, rousing;
With fiery thongs and prongs the black to harry,
And give his crisp and frizzly hair a tousing!
Now down the mountain-steps comes wild the master,
In glowing lava's purple mantle gliding;
Vesuvius holds the train that ever faster
In folds gigantic from his arm is sliding!
His love and rage with dizzying spell so blind him,
That from his fiery crown, as on he dashes,
Great diamonds, (flaming lightnings,) drop behind him,
And garnets, (glowing rocks,) with constant crashes!
Now he is there, his fiery arms will grasp her;—
But what a fall his pride of passion humbles!—
When to his glowing breast he seeks to clasp her,
Her form collapses and to ashes crumbles!
They withered at the marriage-feast, the roses!
Dry are the fountains in the garden places!
The Lava's royal mantle still discloses
That full, round, swelling bosom's tender traces!
Then said the God: ‘Thy beauty, woman, never
By the wind's kiss shall, rose-like, fade and perish!
The children's children it shall charm forever,
A witness aye shall live its fame to cherish!
‘Never shalt thou, gray Lava, turn to ashes!
Shaped to a graceful lamp, shall thy soft gleaming
Through the long temple halls of time send flashes,
Fed with the holy oil of love, mild-streaming!
‘Thine is the office—long shalt thou maintain it—
Of offering-cup for love's immortal liquor;
Thousands of years shall drink therefrom, nor drain it,
And latest roses crown the sparkling beaker!’
Thy mass, gray Lava, Aphrodite's beaker!
From thee, my thirsty, love-sick spirit draineth
Love's draught, the fiery-clear, eternal liquor!
I see her, of Pompeii's dames the fairest,
Walk through the garden's bright and sunny places!
Well may it boast the sweetest flowers and rarest,
But sweeter, fairer she who through it paces.
Box and acanthus guard, like dwarfs, the peeping
Violet and rose, the balcony encloses;
Yet may her graceful bodice well be keeping
In watch and ward two fairer captive roses.
The fountain, like a silver column, gleameth,
Then falls, a million-fleecéd snow-shower weaving,
A weeping willow, silver-haired, it seemeth,—
But lovelier far her snowy bosom's heaving!
The spirit of the fire-mount, that same hour,
Looks from his flaming throne; he feels love's yearning!
When the gods hate you, mortals, dread their power,
But dread them more with love's wild passion burning!
His plans to hide, now, quick as lightning flashes,
His Moorish slave, that woolly cloud, he hurries,
And with a veil—alas, of dust and ashes!—
The house of love from all the people buries!
But now lest, on his way, the pimp should tarry,
His overseer, the storm, must follow, rousing;
With fiery thongs and prongs the black to harry,
And give his crisp and frizzly hair a tousing!
Now down the mountain-steps comes wild the master,
In glowing lava's purple mantle gliding;
Vesuvius holds the train that ever faster
In folds gigantic from his arm is sliding!
His love and rage with dizzying spell so blind him,
That from his fiery crown, as on he dashes,
Great diamonds, (flaming lightnings,) drop behind him,
And garnets, (glowing rocks,) with constant crashes!
Now he is there, his fiery arms will grasp her;—
But what a fall his pride of passion humbles!—
When to his glowing breast he seeks to clasp her,
Her form collapses and to ashes crumbles!
They withered at the marriage-feast, the roses!
Dry are the fountains in the garden places!
The Lava's royal mantle still discloses
That full, round, swelling bosom's tender traces!
Then said the God: ‘Thy beauty, woman, never
By the wind's kiss shall, rose-like, fade and perish!
The children's children it shall charm forever,
A witness aye shall live its fame to cherish!
‘Never shalt thou, gray Lava, turn to ashes!
Shaped to a graceful lamp, shall thy soft gleaming
Through the long temple halls of time send flashes,
Fed with the holy oil of love, mild-streaming!
‘Thine is the office—long shalt thou maintain it—
Of offering-cup for love's immortal liquor;
Thousands of years shall drink therefrom, nor drain it,
And latest roses crown the sparkling beaker!’
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