But I, not wishing it, am in thy breast A dagger striking, thus again to view That fatal night’s dark image to suggest, When life with death its fearful struggles drew. Now ended are her pains, for ever o’er! Herself she pray’d for it, with pious eyes To heaven, and hope, amidst the pangs she bore, Shone on her brow serene in death to rise. O! were it given us to penetrate The secrets of the tomb, how oft our grief Would it not soften down, however great! In this same moment who of the belief Could not assure thee, while thou dost lament, Unhappy, thy lost wife’s untimely doom, That she is there enjoying permanent A lot more happy than this side the tomb? Thou, silent, lowly bendest down thy head; But thou mayst not be silent; answer me; Sound, if thou darest it, the abyss to tread, That separates thy lost loved wife from thee. Take through eternity thy course, and then Tell me of where she is, what is her state? Happy or miserable? or again, We should rejoice in, or lament her fate? To thee I may repeat it, others gay Will laugh at my dark fancy; not long past The time I was by that enchanting bay Of the Tyrrhenian sea; the city vast, Mother of pleasures, I forsook, and bent, Absorb’d, my feeble steps, where lowly lies Pompeii; palaces with gardens blent And fountains brilliant, shone before my eyes; But deeper penetrates the mind, and sad, Slowly along I went with heavy heart: Flowers amid lava grew! and rich, and glad Today the scenes on every side impart The towns and villages, which others hide That stood as happy there a former day; Those now that flourish built up by the side Of some forgotten that have pass’d away. At length I came where we the walls descry Of the deserted city, which the abode Proclaim’d it was of men in times gone by; Their sepulchres stood bordering the road! There for a resting-place the traveller stays, For shade and for repose: the gate now gain’d, Awhile the vacillating foot delays To enter, as if fearing it profaned Too bold the mansions of the dead. No word, No sound, no murmur. It would seem that there Ev’n Echo’s self is mute, no answer heard! Slowly I through the narrow streets repair Without a human footstep! Porticos And plazas by no living beings trod, Walls with deserted hearths, and temples rose And altars, without victims or a god. How little, mean and miserable seem’d The world before mine eyes, when there I stood! A bitter smile upon my features gleam’d, To think of man’s ambition, schemes of blood, And projects without end, when by a blast, Like smoke, their good and evil are represt; Ashes a mighty city overcast, As light dust covers o’er some poor ants’ nest!