The Last Days of Pompeii by Edward Bulwer-lytton

THE awful night preceding the fierce joy of the amphitheatre rolled / drearily away, and greyly broke forth the dawn of THE LAST DAY OF / POMPEII! The air was uncommonly calm and sultry -- a thin and dull mist / gathered over the valleys and hollows of the broad Campanian fields. / But yet it was remarked in surprise by the early fishermen, that, / despite the exceeding stillness of the atmosphere, the waves of the sea / were agitated, and seemed, as it were, to run disturbedly back from the / shore; while along the blue and stately Sarnus, whose ancient breadth of / channel the traveler now vainly seeks to discover, there crept a hoarse / and sullen murmur, as it glided by the laughing plains and the gaudy / villas of the wealthy citizens. Clear above the low mist rose the / time-worn towers of the immemorial town, the red-tiled roofs of the / bright streets, the solemn columns of many temples, and the / statue-crowned portals of the Forum and the Arch of Triumph. Far in the / distance, the outline of the circling hills soared above the vapors, and / mingled with the changeful hues of the morning sky. The cloud that had / so long rested over the crest of Vesuvius had suddenly vanished, and its / rugged and haughty brow looked without a frown over the beautiful scenes / below.

Despite the earliness of the hour, the gates of the city were already / opened. Horsemen upon horsemen, vehicle after vehicle, poured rapidly / in; and the voices of numerous pedestrian groups, clad in holiday / attire, rose high in joyous and excited merriment; the streets were / crowded with citizens and strangers from the populous neighborhood of / Pompeii; and noisily -- fast -- confusedly swept the many streams of life / towards the fatal show.