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.