nelt;
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 loosened from the mountain's belt;
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo![391][5.H.]
Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe.[lo][392]
XIII.
Before St. Mark still glow his Steeds of brass,
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun;
But is not Doria's menace[393] come to pass?[6.H.]
Are they not bridled?--Venice, lost and won,
Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done,
Sinks, like a sea-weed, unto whence she rose![lp][394]
Better be whelmed beneath the waves, and shun,
Even in Destruction's depth, her foreign foes,[lq]
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,"[395] 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;[396]
Witness Troy's rival, Candia![397] Vouch it, ye
Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight![398]
For ye are names no Time nor Tyranny can blight.
XV.
Statues of glass--all shivered--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 enthrals,[7.H.]
Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls.
XVI.
When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse,
And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war,
Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse,[399]
Her voice their only ransom from afar:[lr]
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.[ls]
XVI
|