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IN awful ruins AEtna thunders nigh, And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sky Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire, From their dark sides there bursts the glowing fire; At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd That lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost : Sometimes the mount, with vast convulsions torn, Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne With loud explosions to the starry skies, The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies, Then back again with greater weight recoils, While AEtna thundering from the bottom boils.

ON A THUNDERSTORM. (1783.) (Preserved by his Schoolmaster.) Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll, And vivid lightnings flash from pole to pole, Yet 'tis thy voice, my God, that bids them fly, Thy arm directs those lightnings through the sky. Then let the good thy mighty name revere, And harden'd sinners thy just venge. ance fear.

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