In their primeval majesty, beheld
Thus by faint starlight and the partial glare
Of the red-streaming lava, will inspire
Far deeper thoughts than pillar’d halls, wherein
Statesmen hold weary vigils. Are we not
O’ershadow’d by that Etna, which of old
With its dread prophecies hath struck dismay
Through tyrants’ hearts, and bade them seek a home
In other climes? Hark! from its depths, e’en now,
What hollow moans are sent!