Sonnet LXXXIII: On Catania and Syracuse Swallowed Up by Earthquake

Here, from laborious Art, proud TOWNS, ye rose!
Here, in an instant, sunk!--nor ought remains
Of all ye were!--on the wide, lonely plains
Not e'en a stone, that might these words disclose,
“Here stood CATANIA;”--or whose surface shows
That this was SYRACUSE:--but louring reigns
A trackless DESOLATION.--Dim Domains!
Pale, mournful Strand! how oft, with anxious throes,
Seek I sad relics, which no spot supplies!--
A SILENCE--a fix'd HORROR sears my soul,
Arrests my foot!--Dread DOOM of human crimes,
What art thou?--Ye o'erwhelmed Cities, rise!
That your terrific skeletons may scowl
Portentous warning to succeeding Times!