In elder days, ere yet the Roman bands Victorious, this our other world subdu'd, A spacious City stood, with firmest walls Sure mounded, and with num'rous turrets crown's, Aerial spires, and citadels, the seat Of Kings, and heroes resolute in war, Fam'd Ariconium; uncontrol'd and free, Till all-subduing Latin arms prevail'd. Then also, tho' to foreign yoke submiss, She undemolished stood; and ev'n till now, Perhap, had stood, of ancient British art A pleasing monument, not less admir'd Than what from Attic or Etruscan hands Arose, had not the Heav'nly pow'rs averse Decreed her final doom; Old Ariconium sinks, and all her tribes, Heroes and senators, down to the realms Of endless night. Meanwhile the loosen'd winds Infuriate, molten rocks, and flaming globes, Hurl'd high above the clouds, til, all their force Consum'd, her ravenous jaws the earth satiate clos'd Thus this fair City fell, of which the name Survives alone; nor is there found a mark Whereby the curious passenger may learn Her ample site, save coins and mouldering urns, And huge unweildy bones, lasting remains Of that gigantic race, which, as he breaks The clotted glebe, the ploughman haply finds, Appall'd. Upon that treacherous tract of land She whildom stood, now Ceres in her prime Smiles fertile.