Hence late expos'd (if distant fame says true)
A smother'd city from the sandy wave
Emergent rose; with olive-fields around,
Fresh woods, reclining herds, and silent flocks,
Amusing all, and incorrupted seen.
For by the nitrous penetrating salts,
Mix'd copious with the sand, pierc'd, and preserv'd,
Each object hardens gradual into stone,
Its posture fixes, and its colour keeps.
The statue-folk, within, unnumber'd croud
The streets, in various attitudes surpriz'd
By sudden fate, and live on every face
The passions caught, beyond the sculptor's art.
Here leaning soft, the marble-lovers stand,
Delighted even in death; and each for each
Feeling alone, with that expressive look,
Which perfect  only knows to give.
And there the father agonizing bends
Fond o'er his weeping wife, and infant train
Aghast, and trembling, tho' they know not why.
The stiffen'd vulgar stretch their arms to heaven,
With horror starting; while in council deep
Assembled full, the hoary-headed sires
Sit sadly-thoughtful of the public fate.
As when old  beneath the raging
Sunk her proud turrets resolute on death,
Around the  sat the grey divan
Of  majestic, motionless,
With ivory-staves, and in their awful robes
Dress'd like the falling fathers of mankind;
Amaz'd, and shivering, from the solemn sight
The red barbarians shrunk, and deem'd them