XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, 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, Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, 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: Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. XX. But from their nature will the tannen grow (13) Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks, Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks And grew a giant tree;-the mind may grow the same. XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root XXII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd, XXIII. But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, 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 blight and blackening which it leaves behind, 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! XXV. 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 The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, The beautiful, the brave-the lords of earth and sea, |