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!