to ruin

all hail! inexorable lord!

at whose destruction-breathing word,

the mightiest empires fall!

thy cruel, woe-delighted train,

the ministers of grief and pain,

a sullen wee, all!

with stern-resolv'd, despairing eye,

i see each aimed dart;

for one has cut my dearest tie,

and quivers in my heart.

then low'ring, and pouring,

the storm no more i dread;

tho' thick'ning, and black'ning,

round my devoted head.