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POEMS WRITTEN IN 1817
XII
Sudden, from out that city sprung
A light that made the earth grow red;
Two flames that each with quivering tongue
Licked its high domes, and overhead
Among those mighty towers and fanes75
Dropped fire, as a volcano rains
Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.
Sudden, from out that city sprung
A light that made the earth grow red;
Two flames that each with quivering tongue
Licked its high domes, and overhead
Among those mighty towers and fanes75
Dropped fire, as a volcano rains
Its sulphurous ruin on the plains.
XIII
And hark! a rush as if the deep
Had burst its bonds; she looked behind
And saw over the western steep80
A raging flood descend, and wind
Through that wide vale; she felt no fear,
But said within herself, 'Tis clear
These towers are Nature's own, and she84
To save them has sent forth the sea.
And hark! a rush as if the deep
Had burst its bonds; she looked behind
And saw over the western steep80
A raging flood descend, and wind
Through that wide vale; she felt no fear,
But said within herself, 'Tis clear
These towers are Nature's own, and she84
To save them has sent forth the sea.
XIV
And now those raging billows came
Where that fair Lady sate, and she
Was borne towards the showering flame
By the wild waves heaped tumultuously,
And, on a little plank, the flow90
Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.
And now those raging billows came
Where that fair Lady sate, and she
Was borne towards the showering flame
By the wild waves heaped tumultuously,
And, on a little plank, the flow90
Of the whirlpool bore her to and fro.
XV
The flames[1] were fiercely vomited
From every tower and every dome,
And dreary light did widely shed
O'er that vast flood's suspended foam,95
Beneath the smoke which hung its night
On the stained cope of heaven's light.
The flames[1] were fiercely vomited
From every tower and every dome,
And dreary light did widely shed
O'er that vast flood's suspended foam,95
Beneath the smoke which hung its night
On the stained cope of heaven's light.
XVI
The plank whereon that Lady sate
Was driven through the chasms, about and about,
Between the peaks so desolate100
Of the drowning mountains[2], in and out,
As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails—
While the flood was filling those hollow vales.
The plank whereon that Lady sate
Was driven through the chasms, about and about,
Between the peaks so desolate100
Of the drowning mountains[2], in and out,
As the thistle-beard on a whirlwind sails—
While the flood was filling those hollow vales.
XVII
At last her plank an eddy crossed,
And bore her to the city's wall,105
Which now the flood[3] had reached almost;
It might the stoutest heart appal
To hear the fire roar and hiss
Through the domes of those mighty palaces.
At last her plank an eddy crossed,
And bore her to the city's wall,105
Which now the flood[3] had reached almost;
It might the stoutest heart appal
To hear the fire roar and hiss
Through the domes of those mighty palaces.
XVIII
The eddy whirled her round and round110
Before a gorgeous gate, which stood
Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound
Its aëry arch with light like blood;
She looked on that gate of marble clear,
With wonder that extinguished fear.
The eddy whirled her round and round110
Before a gorgeous gate, which stood
Piercing the clouds of smoke which bound
Its aëry arch with light like blood;
She looked on that gate of marble clear,
With wonder that extinguished fear.
XIX
For it was filled with sculptures rarest,116
Of forms most beautiful and strange,
Like nothing human, but the fairest
Of wingèd shapes, whose legions range
Throughout the sleep of those that[4] are,120
Like this same Lady, good and fair.
For it was filled with sculptures rarest,116
Of forms most beautiful and strange,
Like nothing human, but the fairest
Of wingèd shapes, whose legions range
Throughout the sleep of those that[4] are,120
Like this same Lady, good and fair.
XX
And as she looked, still lovelier grew
Those marble forms;—the sculptor sure
Was a strong spirit, and the hue
Of his own mind did there endure
And as she looked, still lovelier grew
Those marble forms;—the sculptor sure
Was a strong spirit, and the hue
Of his own mind did there endure
