Poem by Anna Seward

Sonnet 83. Here, from laborious Art, proud Towns, ye rose!

  ON CATANIA AND SYRACUSE
  SWALLOWED UP BY EARTHQUAKE.

  FROM THE ITALIAN OF FILACAJA.

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!

1. Sonnet 15. The evening shines in May's luxuriant pride
2. Sonnet 45. From Possibility's dim chaos sprung
3. Sonnet 48. Now young-ey'd Spring, on gentle breezes borne
4. Sonnet 13. Thou child of Night, and Silence, balmy Sleep
5. Sonnet 53. The knell of Whitehead tolls!—his cares are past

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