Amelia Opie

Here you will find theLong PoemOn Hearing that Constantinople Was Swallowed Up by an Earthquakeof poet Amelia Opie

On Hearing that Constantinople Was Swallowed Up by an Earthquake

(一份报告,尽管假,当时一般lieved.] Fallen are thy towers, Byzantium! towers that stood Before the Turk's dread fury, when he came, The crescent sparkling amidst Christian blood, And to the reeking den of Moloch turned Sophia's holy fane! Where, where are now, Imperial city, the late proud remains Of thy brave founder's greatness, when he clothed In worldly grandeur pure Religion's form; Then placed beside him, placed upon a throne, The lowly Nazarene's meek simple child!.... He, wandering then upon a Christian land, Stranger at home had been, nor known again His artless rites, his followers, in the domes Filled with the sparkling shrine, the rich-robed priests, And pomp of earthly greatness........But not long Lived there his name....Science and art, farewell! The foe of light and love, Mohammed, comes, And Constantine's proud race exists no more. But, sons of Mahomet, the towers he built, Though by your anger spared, have fallen now, And crushed your bloody race! A mightier arm Than his who raised, or spared, yon domes came forth; From the hot sable rolling cloud it came, And crumbled them to dust!....The wind, the air, Seem in strict silence bound, but smiling still Appears the face of day; assassin-like, Smiling, though conscious of intended death. But Nature trembles at her own repose; The brute creation dread forebodings shake; While man alone is bold.....But see where now The labouring ocean, in fantastic shapes And sudden swells, her heaving bosom rears; Like the mad Pythia, when the Delphian god Spoke by her fraudful lips....But here, alas! A real God that world of waters moves To do his dreadful bidding!.... Hark! he comes! The thunder's roar, the rush of winds proclaim The Mighty One is near....But oh! when past His power, and those he spared raised up their heads, Where was the eye could bear upon the waste To gaze, and mark the ruin stretching wide! Oh! ye were blest, ye victims, ye who fell Deep in the yawning chasm!...."Where are now," The sad survivor cries, "my peaceful home, The sacred mosque I loved, the child, the wife I clasped but now; the city towering high, Proud in its strength?....Disperse, thou gloomy cloud, And let me gaze on them!" The cloud's dispersed; But he beholds no city, he can trace No vestige of his home: a putrid lake Or barren ground replace them, and proclaim, Devouring earthquake, thy resistless power. England! blest country, from such woes as these Thy temperate clime preserves thee; lightly felt, If ever, by thy comfort-breathing shores, The earthquake desolating distant lands: And....thou hast cause to lift thy voice most high, In the great choir of nations hymning praise. But ye, who wander from your native shores, While haply such calamity draws near As sunk Byzantium; ye, whose eager hearts Anticipate a glad return to scenes Ye shall behold no more, for ever swept From off the earth, unconscious heirs of woe; For you I mourn!....Methinks I see the cheek Flushed with delight, chastized perhaps by fear, When your own land approaches....See the eye Misty with tears ope wide its eager lid To catch the well-known objects! Horrid change! Fear pales that glowing cheek, and dries that eye, "It is our native shore,....but where are gone The fanes, the spires, erewhile our city's pride?" I hear you cry. "The pilot is deceived, And hope deceived us too....'Tis not our land!" But soon the mournful certainty ye guess, And leap to shore; and there ye call in vain On all ye loved....Throughout the silent streets That yet remain, perhaps some meagre form May trembling steal along, and tell the tale; While on the ruins some lone maniac sits, And, as he points to where the chasm yawned, Boasts of the treasures earth preserves for him; Or, while a sudden beam of reason darts, Screams his discordant anguish, and commands Earth to give back his children!.... Angel of woe, that from the eternal hand Receivest thy dread commission, going forth To flap thy sable pinions o'er the world, And shed unnumbered evils, which appear To piety's uplifted eye as good Concealed in evil's garb;....angel of woe, Upon thy awful power I've pondered oft, In all its dark varieties, I've sought The horrid path where Madness stalks along In fancied majesty, or from his cell Sends the loud shriek, or more afflicting laugh; And, as I hurried from the o'erwhelming scene, Have shuddering owned thy awful presence there ,.... I've seen thee by the death-bed sit, and bid The silent corse to speak again, and urge The eyes for ever closed to ope once more And beam as they were wont:....and I have walked In slow procession to the opening grave, And seen thee tr