In you the earth forgets her care.
What means this field of burning death?
Proud Etna heaves, by fury riven,
And seems to hurl from depths beneath,
Hell’s weapons toward the kindling heaven.
Soon sink the flames below the plain—
The shaken world grows calm again.
Flow, generous wine—and smile, ye fair!
In you the earth forgets her care.
New griefs upon their path have sped—