Whate’er I’ve been told of thy wonders is true !
All nature at once seems to rush on my view,
And, lost in the trance you occasion, I cry,
How stupendous the scene ! what an atom am I !
How thy waves, wildly foaming, and hurled around,
Rise in volumes of mist from thy cauldron profound,
And in tears, which thy fury has caused, brightly plays,
The rainbow that dazzles my sight with its blaze !
Like the tyrant of Europe, whose merciless force
Bears down ev’ry mound which opposes his course :
While the halo, whose glory encircles his head,
Is formed by the tears which the wretched have shed.
O who should not rather all glory forego,
Than gain it by battle, and bloodshed and wo !
O who would not rather inhabit the vale,
Than dwell on the Andes, the sport of each gale !
Near Etna I’ve stray’d with impressions most sweet,
Through vineyards that circle with verdure its feet ;
But felt not the least inclination to tread
On the ashes which cover its cloud-piercing head.
And though with sensations I ne’er knew before,
I bend me enraptur’d to list to thy roar,
And, as thy blue streams irresistibly roll,
Feel the awe most sublime which possesses my soul ;
Yet I would not for worlds that my life were like thee !
O far be each thought of such tumult from me !
Far, far be each wish that ambition might form
To delight in the horrour and roar of the storm.
Let me, cool and clear, glide on free from all taint,
Dispensing relief to the weary and faint ;
No torrent that bursts to affright and amaze,
But the smooth, gentle stream, through the valley that strays.

Source:  The Port Folio. New Series, vol. 4, no. 1, July 4, 1807

Oliver Oldschool, Esq. was a pseudonym for Joseph Dennie. Read about Dennie