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, 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 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, Fall from his hands-his idle scimitar 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: 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) And grew a giant tree;—the mind may grow the same. XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root The camel labours with the heaviest load, XXII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd, Even by the sufferer; and, in each event, Ends: Some, with hope replenish'd and rebuoy'd, Return to whence they came- -with like intent, And weave their web again; some, bow'd and 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 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 The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, The cold-the changed-perchance the dead-anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost-too many!—yet how few! XXV. But my soul wanders; I demand it back` Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, 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 defaced. |