Let the thunder burst,
⁠Pour out and drink the wine!
Thou never saw'st a thunderbolt
⁠Strike the tender vine.

Vesuvius himself
⁠To Bacchus tribute pays,
And spares the vineyard flourishing,
⁠Where his lava sways.

In Italy in vain
⁠I hero sought or sage;
Mine eyes but dusty ruins found,
⁠Mouldering with age.

Of Rome the image scarce
⁠Remains to be portray'd;
A tomb is Herculaneum,
⁠Pompeii is a shade.

But I found Falernum,
⁠His nectar rich remain'd,
And in memory of Horace,
⁠A bottleful I drain'd.