5. Statius Silvae 4.4.78-86

I sing these words to you, Marcellus, on the Cumaean shore where Vesuvius sends up a broken anger, upwhirling fires emulous of Etna. In a future generation, when crops spring up again, when this wasteland regains its green, will men believe that cities and peoples lie beneath? That in days of old their lands lay closer to the sea? Nor has that fatal summit ceased to threaten. May such a fate avoid your Teate, may madness like this never rouse the Marrucinian hills.