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Cheering though vain; their subterranean cells
No safeguard for the thunders rolled above,
And through the earth below; the lightnings pierced
Their dens profound, now first illumined bright
Only to show the swaying walls, — the earth
Cracking and closing back; the arched roofs.
Heaving and grinding, stone 'gainst splintering stone;
Each moment threatening hideous ruin down,
Yet still delaying; while the wretches shrunk,
As they looked up with agonized face,
And called on God to help.
There was a man,
A Roman soldier, for some daring deed
That trespassed on the laws, in dungeon low
Chained down. His was a noble spirit, rough,
But generous, and brave, and kind.
He had a son; 'twas a rosy boy,
A little faithful copy of his sire
In face and gesture.
She died that gave him birth; and since, the child
Had been his father's solace and his care.
The father shared and heightened. But at length
The rigorous law had grasped the sire, condemned
To fetters and to darkness.
His jailer with compassion; and the boy,
Thenceforth a frequent visitor, beguiled
The captive's lot
He felt in all its bitterness; the walls
Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh
And heart-heaved groan. His tale was known, and touched
His father's lingering hours, and brought a balm
With his loved presence that in every wound
Dropped healing. But in this terrific hour
He was a poisoned arrow in the breast
Where he had been a cure.
With earliest morn
Of that first day of darkness and amaze,
The iron door was closed-for them
Never to open more! The day, the night,
Dragged slowly by; nor did they know the fate
Impending o'er the city. Well he heard
The pent up thunders in the earth beneath,
And felt its giddy rocking; and the air
Grew hot at length, and thick; but in his straw
The boy was sleeping; and the father hoped
The earthquake might pass by; nor would he wake
From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell
The dangers of their state. On his low couch
The fettered soldier sunk, and with deep awe
Listened to fearful sounds; with upturned eye
To the great gods he breathed a prayer; then strove
To calm himself, and lose in sleep a while
His useless terrors. But he could not sleep;
His body burned with feverish heat; his chains
Clanked loud, although he moved not; deep in earth
Groaned unimaginable thunders; - sounds,
Fearful and ominous, arose and died
Like the sad moanings of November's wind
In the blank midnight. Deepest horror chilled
His blood that burned before; cold, clammy sweats
Came o'er him; then anon a fiery thrill
Shot through his veins. Now on his couch he shrunk,
And shivered as in fear; now upright leaped,
As though he heard the battle trumpet sound,
And longed to cope with death.
A troubled, dreamy sleep
Never to waken more!
But terrible his agony,
He slept at last,
had he slept
102. The Same, continued.
SOON the storm
Burst forth; the lightnings glanced; the air
Shook with the thunders. They awoke; they sprung
Amazed upon their feet. The dungeon glowed
A moment as in sunshine-then was dark;
Again a flood of white flame fills the cell;
Dying away upon the dazzled eye
In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear.
And blackest darkness! With intensest awe
The soldier's frame was filled; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fevered earth
Jarring and lifting and the massive walls
Heard harshly grate and strain; yet knew he not
While evils undefined and yet to come
Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound
Fate had already given. Where, man of woe!
Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou callest
His name in vain; - he cannot answer thee.
Loudly the father called upon his child;
No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously
He searched their couch of straw; with headlong haste
Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,
Groped darkling on the earth; no child was there.
Again he called; again at farthest stretch
Of his accursed fetters, till the blood
Seemed bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flashed; he strained with arm extended far
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment. Useless toil!
Yet still renewed; still round and round he goes,
And strains and snatches. and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now;
He plants against the wall his feet; his chain
Grasps; tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple; yells and shrieks with rage,
And, like a desert lion in the snare
Raging to break his toils - to and fro bounds.
But see! the ground is opening; a blue light
Mounts, gently waving noiseless; thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame;
But by its lustre, on the earth outstretched,
Behold the lifeless child! his dress singed,
And over his serene face a dark line
Points out the lightning's track.
The father saw,
And all his fury fled; a dead calm fell
That instant on him; speechless, fixed he stood,.
And, with a look that never wandered, gazed
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed; and round those pouting lips
The wonted smile returned.
Silent and pale The father stands; no tear is in his eye: The thunders bellow, but he hears them not; The ground lifts like a sea; he knows it not; The strong walls grind and gape; the vaulted roof Takes shapes like bubble tossing in the wind; See! he looks up and smiles; for death to him Is happiness. Yet could one last embrace Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die
It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near
Moves towards the father's outstretched arm his boy!
Once he has touched his garment. How his eye
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears!
Ha! see! he has him now! he clasps him round;
Kisses his face; puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow; looks in his eyes;
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands;
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping and resigned awaits.
And death came soon, and swift,
The huge pile sunk down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof,
And deep foundation stones, all mingling fell!
103. The Folly of Inconsistent Expectations.
THIS world may be considered as a great mart of commerce, where fortune exposes to our view various commodities, — riches, ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge. Every thing is marked at a settled price. Our time, our labor, our ingenuity, is so much ready money, which we are to lay out to the best advantage. Examine, compare, choose, reject; but stand to your own judgment, and do not, like children, when you have purchased one thing, repine that you do not possess another which you did not purchase.
is the force of well-regulated industry, that a steady and vigorous exertion of our faculties, directed to one end, will generally insure success. Would you, for instance, be rich? Do you think that single point worth the sacrifice of every thing else? You may then be rich. Thousands have