Their various engines; all at once disgorge
Their blazing magazines; and take, by storm, 162
This poor terrestrial citadel of man.
Amazing period! when each mountain-height
Outburns Vesuvius; rocks eternal pour
Their melted mass, as rivers once they pour’d;
Stars rush; and final Ruin fiercely drives
Her ploughshare o’er creation!—while aloft,
More than astonishment! if more can be!
Far other firmament than e’er was seen, 170