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| THERE Baiæ sees no more the joyous throng; | |
| Her bank all beaming with the pride of Rome: | |
| No generous vines now bask along the hills, | |
| Where sport the breezes of the Tyrrhene main: | |
| With baths and temples mixed, no villas rise; | 5 |
| Nor, art sustained amid reluctant waves, | |
| Draw the cool murmurs of the breathing deep: | |
| No spreading ports their sacred arms extend: | |
| No mighty moles the big intrusive storm, | |
| From the calm station, roll resounding back. | 10 |
| An almost total desolation sits, | |
| A dreary stillness saddening o’er the coast; | |
| Where, when soft suns and tepid winters rose, | |
| Rejoicing clouds inhaled the balm of peace; | |
| Where citied hill to hill reflected blaze; | 15 |
| And where, with Ceres Bacchus wont to hold | |
| A genial strife. Her youthful form, robust, | |
| E’en Nature yields; by fire and earthquake rent: | |
| Whole stately cities in the dark abrupt | |
| Swallowed at once, or vile in rubbish laid, | 20 |
| A nest for serpents; from the red abyss | |
| New hills, explosive, thrown; the Lucrine lake | |
| A reedy pool: and all to Cuma’s point, | |
| The sea recovering his usurped domain, | |
| And poured triumphant o’er the buried dome. | 25 |
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