Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, when they have 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. a XIII. Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; But is not Doria's menace come to pass? (8) Are they not bridled ?—Venice, lost and won,` Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done, Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun, Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes, From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. XIV. In youth she was all glory,--a new Tyre,— The "Planter of the Lion," (9) which through fire And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea; Though making many slaves, herself still free, And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite; Witness Troy's rival, Candia! Vouch it, ye Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight! For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. XV. Statues of glass-all shiver' d-the long file 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, Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot Which ties thee to thy tyrants; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations,-most of all, Albion! to thee: the Ocean queen should not Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall 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 sojurn, and of wealth the mart; And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakespeare'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 wo, Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. XIX. I can repeople with the past-and of The present there are still for eye and thought, And meditation chasten'd down enough; And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought; And of the happiest moments which were wrought Within the web of my existence, some From thee, fair Venice! have their colours caught: There are some feelings Time can not benumb, Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. XX. But from their nature will the tannen grow (13) The howling tempest, till its height and frame And grew a giant tree;-the mind may grow the same. XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root In bare and desolated bosoms: mute XXII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd Return to whence they came-with like intent, bent, Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, And perish with the reed on which they leant; Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb : XXIII. But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever; it may be a sound A tone of music,-summer's eve-or spring, A flower-the wind-the ocean-which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound; XXIV. And how and why we know not, nor can trace Which out of things familiar, undesign'd, When least we deem of such, calls up to view anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost-too many!--yet how few! 3 XXV. But my soul wanders; I demand it back The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, sea. XXVI. The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome! Thou art the garden of the world, the home With an immaculate charm which can not be de. faced. |