Classic Poem

What new marvel is this? We prayed for drinkable waters,
What strange fruit is this, dear Mother Earth, of thy womb?
Is there life in the pit? Is there dwelling under the lava
Some generation unknown? does the departed return?
Come ye, Romans and Greeks! Behold your ancient Pompeii
Rises, and here stands Hercules' city anew.
Gable on gable ascends, the generous portal is open,
Hither approach with speed, hasten to people its halls!
Lo! the theatre invites; let the populace, earnestly pressing
Through its seven-fold doors, jostle their emulous way.
And do ye, Mimes, come forth; complete thine oblation, Atrides,
While to Orestes' ear sadly the chorus appeals.
Whither conducts yon arch? Dost thou distinguish the Forum?
Look at the curule chair: whose are the figures I see?
Lictors, bear your fasces on high! In front of the Praetor
At the judgment seat witness and plaintiff appear.
Orderly streets their breadth display; with loftier pavement
Branch the narrow lanes winding the houses among.
Far the sheltering eaves project, the dainty apartments
Round the sequestered court nestle in cosy array.
Open the shutters wide and the doors with long-stiffened hinges!
Where black night has prevailed enter the glamour of day!
See, how round by the wall the rows of benches are ordered,
And as with precious stones sparkles the floor in relief.
Merrily glow the walls with fresh and brilliant colours;
Where is the artist, whose brush toiled but a moment ago?
Rich with swelling fruit and chosen blossoms, the garlands
Compass a charming view set in a flowery frame.
Here with his baskets filled a Cupid is gliding, and yonder
Red-stained toilers stand busily treading the wine.
High the Bacchante leaps in her dance, or in slumber reposes,
While the lurking faun peeps with insatiate eye.
Hither in whimsical course the galloping Centaur she urges;
Hovering on one knee, gaily the thyrsus applies.
Lads, why tarry ye? Here! the well-fashioned vessels await you;
Hither, ye maidens, and draw from the Etrurian jar!
Is not the tripod at hand upborne by the wings of the sphinxes?
Stir the fire! and haste, minister, slaves, to the hearth!
Purchase! and here are coins by the powerful Titus imprinted:
Even the scale lies here, never a weight is astray.
Place the burning lights in the dainty and elegant sockets,
Let the lamp be charged full of diaphanous oil!
What does this box contain? Ah! see what the bridegroom has ordered,
Maiden, circlets of gold; jewels thy dress to adorn!
Lead the bride to the odorous bath, the ointments are handy,
In this crystal vase traces of rouge I espy.
— But, say, where are the men? In the sterner domain of the study
Lie in a priceless heap numbers of curious scrolls.
Here are tablets of wax and styles — all writing utensils: —
Never a thing is lost, faithfully guarded in earth.
All the Penates are here, each God puts in an appearance;
How is it all are found saving the Priesthood alone?
Merrily waving his wand, behold the light-footed Hermes,
And from his steady hand victory surely proceeds.
Ready and waiting stand the altars: oh! come and ignite them;
Long has waited the God: offer th' oblation at last.