'Tis doomed for ever to remain,
'Mid shrieks as from demoniac halls.
But pyramids above these rise,
Whose summits, gleaming gaily bright,
Inspire with hope the fainting eyes,
As bathed they stand in golden light,
Lifting their peaks high o'er the dark,
Like shining spots, that on the breast
Of darkened Luna, seem to mark
Some towering Etna's blazing crest.