HEROISM
.
THERE
was
a
time
when
Aetna's
silent
fire
Slept
unperceiv'd
,
the
mountain
yet
entire
,
When
conscious
of
no
danger
from
below
,
She
towr'd
a
cloud-capt
pyramid
of
snow
.
No
thunders
shook
with
deep
intestine
sound
The
blooming
groves
that
girdled
her
around
,
Her
unctuous
olives
and
her
purple
vines
,
(
Unfelt
the
fury
of
those
bursting
mines
)
The
peasant's
hopes
,
and
not
in
vain
,
assur'd
,
In
peace
upon
her
sloping
sides
matur'd
.
When
on
a
day
,
like
that
of
the
last
doom
,
A
conflagration
lab'ring
in
her
womb
,
She
teem'd
and
heav'd
with
an
infernal
birth
,
That
shook
the
circling
seas
and
solid
earth
.
Dark
and
voluminous
the
vapours
rise
,
And
hang
their
horrors
in
the
neighb'ring
skies
,
While
through
the
stygian
veil
that
blots
the
day
,
In
dazzling
streaks
the
vivid
light'nings
play
.
But
oh
!
what
muse
,
and
in
what
pow'rs
of
song
,
Can
trace
the
torrent
as
it
burns
along
?
Havock
and
devastation
in
the
van
,
It
marches
o'er
the
prostrate
works
of
man
,
Vines
,
olives
,
herbage
,
forests
disappear
,
And
all
the
charms
of
a
Sicilian
year
.
Revolving
seasons
,
fruitless
as
they
pass
,
See
it
an
uninform'd
and
idle
mass
,
Without
a
soil
t'invite
the
tiller's
care
,
Or
blade
that
might
redeem
it
from
despair
.
Yet
time
at
length
(
what
will
not
time
atchieve
?
)
Cloaths
it
with
earth
,
and
bids
the
produce
live
,
Once
more
the
spiry
myrtle
crowns
the
glade
,
And
ruminating
flocks
enjoy
the
shade
.
Oh
bliss
precarious
,
and
unsafe
retreats
,
Oh
charming
paradise
of
short
liv'd
sweets
!
The
self-same
gale
that
wafts
the
fragrance
round
,
Brings
to
the
distant
ear
a
sullen
sound
,
Again
the
mountain
feels
th'
imprison'd
foe
,
Again
pours
ruin
on
the
vale
below
,
Ten
thousand
swains
the
wasted
scene
deplore
,
That
only
future
ages
can
restore
.
Ye
monarchs
,
whom
the
lure
of
honour
draws
,
Who
write
in
blood
the
merits
of
your
cause
,
Who
strike
the
blow
,
then
plead
your
own
de
fence
,
Glory
your
aim
,
but
justice
your
pretence
;
Behold
in
Aetna's
emblematic
fires
The
mischiefs
your
ambitious
pride
inspires
.
Fast
by
the
stream
that
bounds
your
just
do
main
,
And
tells
you
where
ye
have
a
right
to
reign
,
A
nation
dwells
,
not
envious
of
your
throne
,
Studious
of
peace
,
their
neighbours
and
their
own
.
Ill-fated
race
!
how
deeply
must
they
rue
Their
only
crime
,
vicinity
to
you
!
The
trumpet
sounds
,
your
legions
swarm
abroad
,
Through
the
ripe
harvest
lies
their
destin'd
road
,
At
ev'ry
step
beneath
their
feet
they
tread
The
life
of
multitudes
,
a
nation's
bread
;
Earth
seems
a
garden
in
its
loveliest
dress
Before
them
,
and
behind
a
wilderness
;
Famine
and
pestilence
,
her
first-born
son
,
Attend
to
finish
what
the
sword
begun
,
And
ecchoing
praises
such
as
fiends
might
earn
,
And
folly
pays
,
resound
at
your
return
.
A
calm
succeeds
—
but
plenty
with
her
train
Of
heart-felt
joys
,
succeeds
not
soon
again
,
And
years
of
pining
indigence
must
show
What
scourges
are
the
gods
that
rule
below
.
Yet
man
,
laborious
man
,
by
slow
degrees
,
(
Such
is
his
thirst
of
opulence
and
ease
)
Plies
all
the
sinews
of
industrious
toil
,
Gleans
up
the
refuse
of
the
general
spoil
,
Rebuilds
the
towr's
that
smok'd
upon
the
plain
,
And
the
sun
gilds
the
shining
spires
again
.
Increasing
commerce
and
reviving
art
Renew
the
quarrel
on
the
conqu'rors
part
,
And
the
sad
lesson
must
be
learn'd
once
more
;
That
wealth
within
is
ruin
at
the
door
.
What
are
ye
monarchs
,
laurel'd
heroes
,
say
,
But
Aetnas
of
the
suff'ring
world
ye
sway
?
Sweet
nature
stripp'd
of
her
embroider'd
robe
,
Deplores
the
wasted
regions
of
her
globe
,
And
stands
a
witness
at
truth's
awful
bar
,
To
prove
you
there
,
destroyers
as
ye
are
.
Oh
place
me
in
some
heav'n-protected
isle
,
Where
peace
and
equity
and
freedom
smile
,
Where
no
Volcano
pours
his
fiery
flood
,
No
crested
warrior
dips
his
plume
in
blood
,
Where
pow'r
secures
what
industry
has
won
,
Where
to
succeed
is
not
to
be
undone
,
A
land
that
distant
tyrants
hate
in
vain
,
In
Britain's
isle
,
beneath
a
George's
reign
.