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.

In youth she was all glory,-a new Tyre,-
Her very by-word sprung from victory,
ThePlanter of the Lion,' 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.

Statues of glass-all shiver'd-the long file
Of her dead Doges are declined to dust;

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 enthralls,
Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls.

When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse,
And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war,
Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse,
Her voice their only ransom from afar:

See! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car

Of the o'ermastered victor stops, the reins

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.

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's queen should not
Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall

Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall.

I loved her from my boyhood-She to me

Was as a fairy city of the heart,

Rising like water columns from the sea,

Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart;

And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art
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.

I can repeople with the past and of

The present there is 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 cannot benumb,
Nor torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb.

But from their nature will the tannen grow 200 JUIT Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, cotilom CT Rooted in barrenness, where nought below bling mit A Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shoeksen l'I Of eddying storms; yet springs the trunk and mocks d7 The howling tempest, till its height and frameuft ei bo A Are worthy of the mountain from whose blocksam air Of bleak, gray, granite, into life it came, 19 mi979d7/ And grew a giant tree;--the mind may grow the same on I

Existence may be borne, and the deep root meatmos adT Of life and sufferance make its firm abodeniz 979 bn A In bare and desolated bosoms: mute asg out is BOUT The camel labours with the heaviest load,loiy tuz. He 30 And the wolf dies in silence,--not bestow'd ydi ni neval In vain should such example be; if they, 997 197 T Things of ignoble or of savage mood,

Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay #0917 ¿AT May temper it to bear, it is but for a day lasai rs d'i 17

All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd, ei noom 9JT Even by the sufferer; and, in each event, bivib isenma Ends. Some, with hope replenish'd and rebuoy dolg 70 Return to whence they came with like intent,I suid 10 And weave their web again; some, bow'd and benton I Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their time, balls M And perish with the reed on which they leant: 919W Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, 9W According as their souls were form'd to sink or climbe16011

Ignia A d diW

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 o

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;

And how and why we know not, nor can trace
Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind,
But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface
The blight and blackening which it leaves behind,
Which out of things familiar, undesign'd

When least we deem of such, calls up to view

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!

But my soul wanders; I demand it back
To meditate amongst decay, and stand

A ruin amidst ruins; there to track

Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land
Which was the mightiest in its old command,
And is the loveliest, and must ever be

The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand,
Wherein were cast the heroic and the free,
The beautiful, the brave--the lords of earth and sea.

The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome!
And even since, and now, fair Italy!

Thou art the garden of the world, the home
Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree;
Even in thy desert, what is like to thee?
Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste
More rich than other climes' fertility;
Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced
With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced.

The moon is up, and yet it is not night-
Sunset divides the sky with her a sea
Of glory streams along the Alpine height
Of blue Friuli's mountains; heaven is free
From clouds, but of all colours seems to be
Melted to one vast Iris of the West,
Where the day joins the past Eternity;
While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest
Floats through the azure air-an island of the blest!

A single star is at her side, and reigns
With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still
Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains
Roll'd o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill,

As Day and night contending were, until
Nature reclaim'd her order :-gently flows

The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil
The odorous purple of a new-born rose,

Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it glows,

Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar

Comes down upon the waters: all its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising star,

Their magical variety diffuse:

And now they change; a paler shadow strews
Its mantle o'er the mountains; parting day

Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues
With a new colour as it gasps away,

The last still loveliest, till-'tis gone, and all is gray.

ROME.

OH Rome! my country! city of the soul!
The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,
Lone mother of dead empires! and control
In their shut breasts their petty misery.
What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way
O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye!
Whose agonies are evils of a day—

A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay.

The Niobe of nations! there she stands,
Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe;
An empty urn within her withered hands,
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago;
The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now;
The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Of their heroic dwellers: dost thou flow,

Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness ?

Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress.

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire,
Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride;

She saw her glories star by star expire,

And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,

Where the car climb'd the capitol; far and wide
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :-

Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void,

O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light,

And say, "here was, or is," where all is doubly night?

THE OCEAN.

THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, To mingle with the Universe, and feel, What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean-roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin-his control Stops with the shore;-upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake,
They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee, Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since; their shores obey/ The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:-not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,

Calm or convuls'd-in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime

Dark heaving;-boundless, endless, and sublime—
The image of Eternity-the throne

Of the invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.