Their snowy tops the sun’s bright ray,
As from our snow Sierra glow’d
The streams of light, the god of day
O’er earth and heaven bestow’d.
My griefs Pompeii flatter’d more:
Its fearful ruins, silent streets,
Deserted porticos, retreats
Of men with grass run o’er.
And in my troubled mind began
Grave thoughts to rise, how vain is all