But Aetna hard at hand With hideous ruin thunders, and anon Shoots a dark cloud to heaven or whirling smoke Pitch-black, with glowing ashes, and aloft Heaves balls of fire, and licks the stars, anon Rocks and the uptorn entrails of the hill Spews forth, and heaps the molten stones in air Booming, and from his lowest depth upboils.

In: Great Books of the Western World (Volume 13), The Aeneid