Sonnet LXXXIII On Catania and Syracuse Swallowed Up by Earthquake
FROM THE ITALIAN OF FILACAJA.
Here, from laborious Art, proud Towns, ye rose!
Here, in an instant, sunk!—nor ought remains
Of all ye were!—on the wide, lonely plains
Not e’en a stone, that might these words disclose,
“Here stood Catania;”—or whose surface shows
That this was Syracuse:—but louring reigns
A trackless DESOLATION.—Dim Domains!
Pale, mournful Strand! how oft, with anxious throes,
Seek I sad relics, which no spot supplies!—
A Silence—a fix’d Horror sears my soul,
Arrests my foot!—Dread Doom of human crimes,
What art thou?—Ye o’erwhelmed Cities, rise!
That your terrific skeletons may scowl
Portentous warning to succeeding Times!