And crowds had fill’d its halls of revelry,
And all the sunny air was music’s way.
A cloud came o’er the face
Of Italy’s rich heaven!—its crystal blue
Was changed, and deepen’d to a wrathful hue
Of night, o’ershadowing space
As with the wings of death!—in all his power
Vesuvius woke, and hurl’d the burning shower,
And who could tell the buried city’s place?
Such things have been of yore,