Here you will find the Long Poem Pompeii And Herculaneum of poet Friedrich von Schiller
What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well, O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss-- Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell? Returns the past, awakening from the tomb? Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this! Our living world--the old Pompeii sees; And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules! House upon house--its silent halls once more Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng! Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt, Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant! The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still Behold the forum!--on the curule chair Where the majestic image? Lictors, where Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there Bid the accuser stand --O God! how lone The clear streets glitter in the quiet day-- The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way! The roofs arise in shelter, and around The desolate Atrium--every gentle room Wears still the dear familiar smile of home! Open the doors--the shops--on dreary night Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light! See the trim benches ranged in order!--See The marble-tesselated floor--and there The very walls are glittering livingly With their clear colors. But the artist, where! Sure but this instant he hath laid aside Pencil and colors!--Glittering on the eye Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!--See all Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall! Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide By with bloom-laden basket. There the shapes Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes, Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance, And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance] Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds Hovering--the Thyrsus plies.--Hurrah!--away she speeds! Come--come, why loiter ye?--Here, here, how fair The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn, Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn! On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.-- Ho! Quick--quick, ye slaves, come--fire!--the hearth prepare! Ha! wilt thou sell?--this coin shall pay thee--this, Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!--Lo! Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss So--bring the light! The delicate lamp!--what toil Shaped thy minutest grace!--quick pour the oil! Yonder the fairy chest!--come, maid, behold The bridegroom's gifts--the armlets--they are gold, And paste out-feigning jewels!--lead the bride Into the odorous bath--lo! unguents still-- And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill! But where the men of old--perchance a prize More precious yet in yon papyrus lies, And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil-- The waxen tablets--the recording style. The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all! Still stand the mute penates in the hall; Back to his haunts returns each ancient god. Why absent only from their ancient stand The priests?--waves Hermes his Caducean rod, And the winged victory struggles from the hand. Kindle the flame--behold the altar there! Long hath the god been worshipless--to prayer.