III. In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more, 1 And silent rows the songless gondolier; Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, And music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone-but Beauty still is here. States fall, arts fade-but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity, The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy! IV. But unto us she hath a spell beyond The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er, For us repeopled were the solitary shore. V. The beings of the mind are not of clay; And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence: that which Fate Of mortal bondage, by these spirits supplied, 1 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. II. 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. - but let them go, I saw or dream'd of such, And other voices speak, and other sights surround. VIII. 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, IX. Perhaps I loved it well; and should I lay If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, X. My name from out the temple where the dead Are honour'd by the nations-let it beAnd light the laurels on a loftier head! And be the Spartan's epitaph on me"Sparta hath many a worthier son than he." 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; And, annual marriage now no more renew'd, The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, Neglected garment of her widowhood! St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood 2 Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power, Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued, And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. The answer of the mother of Brasidas, the Lacedæmonian general, to the strangers who praised the memory of her son. XII. The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns-3 From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt 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, — 2, 3, 4, 5 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," Nos. III. IV. V. VI. 6 That is, the Lion of St. Mark, the standard of the republic, which is the origin of the word Pantaloon - Piantaleone, Pantaleon, Pantaloon. XV. Statues of glass—all shiver'd-the long file But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile XVI. war, 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, Albion to thee: the Ocean queen should not Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 1 See Appendix, "Historical Notes," No. VII. |