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,Her very by-word sprung from victory, 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 But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, Her voice their only ransom from afar : 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, Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot 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) Although I found her thus, we did not part, Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show, XIX. I can repeople with the past-and of 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. (13) But from their nature will the tannen grow And grew a giant tree;—the mind may grow the same. XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root VOL. II. Н |