Classic Poem

The burning ruins blaz'd upon my eyne,
And seem'd to add new horrours to the dark;
Their glare was like the baleful comet's shine,
Or like the flash of Jove's etherial spark,
Which dreadful passage thro' the skies doth mark:
In me what grief, what high disdain was bred!
How sore oppress'd was I with painful cark!
How oft I wish'd myself among the dead!
At length into the woods I slowly, sourly fled.