Pompeii: A Fragment from Schiller

Old Earth ! we knew thy pleasant lap would yield
The shining river and the stainless spring,
Pure stones and precious metals without sum ;
But deemed not, from thy dark and teeming womb
Another race should come — another kind !
Sons of old Athens ! Race of giant Rome !
Behold once more Pompeii — the dark city —
The unbroken roof still shades the marble hall,
And the wide portal woos the lingering guest.
The Theatre presents her opening gates :
Ye mimes ! Where linger ye ?
Come forth, come forth !
Strike, Son of Atreus ! strike the ready victim !
Let the Dark Sisters hover round Orestes !
On ! through yon Arch of Triumph to the Forum ;
Strange figures sit in yonder curule chair.
Why not advance the fasces, ye grim Lienors ?
Praetor ! the weary plaintiff seeks thine ear.
Alas ! there is no sound ; the sculptured roof,
The path just worn by human feet ; the door
That human hands have opened — these are here ;
And yet, there is no sound — there is no sound.
Enter ! the pavement glows with rich mosaic,
And the wall shines with fresh and living hues
From yonder pallet. See ! with loaded basket
A laughing boy bears off the bursting cluster,
Plucked by his grandsire from the weary vine.
And see ! where fresh from the warm painter's hand
Speeds the wild Bacchante her reckless dance ;
Or sleeps, voluptuous, underneath the elm,
Nor has that Faun, enraptured, gazed enough.