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!