“Jove on the giant fair Trinacria hurl’d, And with one bolt revenged his starry world. Beneath her burning hills Typhoeus lies, And, struggling always, strives in vain to rise. Down does Pelorus his right hand suppress Towards Latium; on the left Pachyne weighs: His legs are under Lilybaeum spread, And Aetna presses hard his horrid head: On his broad back he there extended lies, And vomits clouds of ashes to the skies: Oft labouring with his load, at last he tires, And pours out in revenge a flood of fires: Mountains he struggles to o’erwhelm, and towns; Earth’s inmost bowels quake, and Nature groans: His terrors reach the direful king of hell; He fears his throes will to the day reveal The realms of night, and fright his trembling ghosts.