VI. Such is the refuge of our youth and age, And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye: And the strange constellations which the Muse VII. I saw or dream'd of such, but let them go They came like truth, and disappear'd like dreams; And other voices speak, and other sights surround. VHI. I've taught me other tongues-and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger; to the mind Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with-ay, or without mankind; Yet was I born where men are proud to be, Not without cause; and should I leave behind The inviolate island of the sage and free, And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, 1X. Perhaps I loved it well; and should I lay X. My name from out the temple where the dead Are honour'd by the nations-let it be— And light the laurels on a loftier head! And be the Spartan's epitaph on me— "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he." (4) Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted, they have torn me, and I bleed: I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. XI. The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord; St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood (5) XII. The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns-—— (6) An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt The sunshine for a while, and downward go Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt; Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo! (7) Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. XIII. Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, XIV. In youth she was all glory, a new Tyre,- The "Planter of the Lion," (9) which through fire XV. Statues of glass-all shiver'd—the long file But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust; Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, Have yielded to the stranger: empty halls, Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must Too oft remind her who and what enthrals, (10) Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, Starts from its belt he rends his captive's chains, And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. XVII. Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. XVIII. I loved her from my boyhood-she to me Rising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art, (12) Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, Although I found her thus, we did not part, Perchance even dearer in her day of woe, Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. XIX. I can repeople with the past—and of The present there is still for eye and thought, And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought; From thee, fair Venice! have their colours caught: XX. But from their nature will the tannen grow (13) And grew a giant tree;—the mind may grow the same. VOL. I. U |