Suggested by the Romance of "Old Saint Paul's."
by Miss Skelton.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.3 #16 (May 1843).
A mighty city lay in sleep, 'neath the dusk of a moonless night,
But the starlight touch'd its thousand spires each with a gleaming light;
The starlight shew'd its countless homes, its halls of pomp and pride,
And its marble, peopled terraces, and its river rolling wide.
And I saw, betwixt the heavens and earth, two ghastly shapes arise,
Shadowing the city's silent depths, clouding the starry skies—
Angels of death, denouncing doom—visions of wrath, they came;
One, formless in its utter gloom—one, bright with blinding flame.
The Spirits of the Plague and Fire!~I knew them as they rose,
And I listen'd for the awful words that would tell of coming woes.
No eye save mine that sight might see, no ear save mine might hear,
As o'er the guilty city pass'd that sound of grief and fear.
First, from the darker phantom broke a loud and wailing cry,
"I summon ye,—oh! fated ones,—I summon ye to die!
Long have your crimes for vengeance call'd—the word is given on high,
And vengeance comes—to-night is yours, to-morrow ye shall die!
"Death is already at your gates, his dart is raised to strike,
And young and old, and rich and poor, I summon ye alike;
And fair, and proud, and great, and brave, as autumn leaves ye fall—
The grave is dug, the pit is deep—I summon one and all.
"Nought shall avail; virtue and truth shall die, with lust and pride;
I claim the parent from the child, the bridegroom from the bride;
I claim the old man's snow-white hairs—the babe's unsullied breath,
And the love whose passionate excess might conquer all—save death.
"I summon all—all these are mine!"—thus the dark phantom cried,
While peals like thunder growling round in sullen echoes died,
Then spoke the Angel, bright with flame—"Oh, city proud and gay,"
My brother claims your guilty sons, and you shall be my prey!
"I your polluted streets and halls will cleanse with living fires—
I will scorch your temples into dust, I will strike your stately spires;
Thy mighty ones shall bite the earth, thy lofty shall lie low—
We bring e mandate from on high—we doom thee wrath and woe!"
I saw the signs—I heard the words—then day was slowly born,
And the bright Angel, girt with flame, fled from the light of morn;
But in thick mist the dark shape sank, o'er streets and river down,
And with the morrow came the Plague to that devoted town.