n warlike guise, the Caravan from Venice;
When on its march, now lost and now beheld,
A glittering file (the trumpet heard, the scout
Sent and recalled) but at a city-gate
All gaiety, and looked for ere it comes;
Winning regard with all that can attract,
Cages, whence every wild cry of the desert,
Jagglers, stage-dancers. Well might Charlemain,
And his brave peers, each with his visor up,
Ɔn their long lances lean and gaze awhile,
When the Venetian to their eyes disclosed
The wonders of the East! Well might they then
Sigh for new Conquests!
Thus did Venice rise,
Thus flourish, till the unwelcome tidings came,
That in the Tagus had arrived a fleet
From India, from the region of the Sun,
Fragrant with spices-that a way was found,
A channel opened, and the golden stream
Turned to enrich another. Then she felt
Her strength departing, yet awhile maintained
Her state, her splendour; till a tempest shook
All things most held in honour among men,
All that the giant with the scythe had spared,
To their foundations, and at once she fell;
She who had stood yet longer than the last
Of the Four Kingdoms-who, as in an Ark,
Had floated down, amid a thousand wrecks,
Uninjured, from the Old World to the New,
From the last glimpse of civilized life-to where
Light shone again, and with the blaze of noon.
Through many an age in the mid-sea she dwelt,
From her retreat calmly contemplating
The changes of the Earth, herself unchanged.
Before her passed, as in an awful dream,
The mightiest of the mighty. What are these,
Clothed in their purple? O'er the globe they fling
Their monstrous shadows; and,while yet we speak,
Phantom-like, vanish with a dreadful scream!
What-but the last that styled themselves the
Cæsars?
And who in long array (look where they come;
Their gestures menacing so far and wide)
Wear the green turban and the heron's plume?
Who-but the Caliphs? followed fast by shapes
As new and strange-Emperor, and King, and
Czar,
And Soldan, each, with a gigantic stride,
Trampling on all the flourishing works of peace
To make his greatness greater, and inscribe
His name in blood-some, men of steel, steel-clad,
Others, nor long, alas, the interval,
In light and gay attire, with brow serene
Wielding Jove's thunder, scattering sulphurous fire
Mingled with darkness; and, among the rest,
Lo, one by one, passing continually,
Those who assume a sway beyond them all;
Men grey with each in a triple crown,
And in his tremulous hands grasping the keys
That can alone, as he would signify,
Unlock Heaven's gate.
APPY is he who loves companionship.
And lights on thee, Luigi.
Playing at Mora on the cabin-roof With Punchinello.-'Tis a game to strike Fire from the coldest heart. What then from thine And, ere the twentieth throw, I had resolved, Won by thy looks. Thou wert an honest lad;
Tert generous, grateful, not without ambition.
ad it depended on thy will alone,
hou wouldst have numbered in thy family
It least six Doges and the first in fame.
nt that was not to be. In thee I saw
The last, if not the least, of a long line,
Who in their forest, for three hundred years,
Had lived and laboured, cutting, charring wood;
Discovering where they were, to those astray,
By the re-echoing stroke, the crash, the fall,
Or the blue wreath that travelled slowly up
nto the sky. Thy nobler destinies
Led thee away to justle in the crowd;
And there I found thee-trying once again,
What for thyself thou hadst prescribed so oft,
A change of air and diet—once again
Crossing the sea, and springing to the shore
As though thou knewest where to dine and sleep.
First in Bologna didst thou plant thyself,
Serving behind a Cardinal's gouty chair,
Listening and oft replying, jest for jest;
Then in Ferrara, everything by turns,
So great thy genius and so Proteus-like!
Now serenading in a lover's train,
And measuring swords with his antagonist;
Now carving, cup-bearing in halls of state;
And now a guide to the lorn traveller,
A very Cicerone-yet, alas,
How unlike him who fulmined in old Rome!
Dealing out largely in exchange for pence
Thy scraps of Knowledge—thro' the grassy street
Leading, explaining-pointing to the bars
Of Tasso's dungeon, and the Latin verse,
Graven in the stone, that yet denotes the door
Of Ariosto.
Since on the Rhine we parted; yet, methinks,
I can recall thee to the life, Luigi,
In our long journey ever by my side;
Thy locks jet-black, and clustering round a face
Open as day and full of manly daring.
Thou hadst a hand, a heart for all that came,
Herdsman or pedlar, monk or muleteer;
And few there were, that met thee not with smiles.
Mishap passed o'er thee like a summer-cloud.
Cares thou hadst none; and they, that stood to
hear thee,
Caught the infection and forgot their own.
Nature conceived thee in her merriest mood,
Her happiest-not a speck was in the sky;
And at thy birth the cricket chirped, Luigi,
Thine a perpetual voice-at every turn
A larum to the echo. In a clime,
Where all were gay, none were so gay as thou;
Thou, like a babe, hushed only by thy slumbers;
Up hill and down hill, morning, noon and night,
Singing or talking; singing to thyself
When none gave ear, but to the listener talking.
VER how many tracts, vast, measure-
less,
Ages on ages roll, and none appear
Save the wild hunter ranging for his
While on this spot of earth, the work of man, How much has been transacted! Emperors
Warriors, from far and wide, laden with spoil, Landing, have here performed their several parts, Then left the stage to others. Not a stone
1 the broad pavement, but to him who has n eye, an ear for the Inanimate World, ells of Past Ages.
In that temple-porch The brass is gone, the porphyry remains,1) id Barbarossa fling his mantle off,
ind, kneeling, on his neck receive the foot
Of the proud Pontiff2-thus at last consoled
For flight, disguise, and many an anguish shake
On his stone pillow.
In that temple-porch,
Ɔld as he was, so near his hundredth year,
And blind—his eyes put out-did Dandolo
Stand forth, displaying on his crown the cross.
There did he stand, erect, invincible,
Though wan his cheeks, and wet with many tears,
For in his prayers he had been weeping much ;
And now the pilgrims and the people wept
With admiration, saying in their hearts,
"Surely those aged limbs have need of rest!" 3
There did he stand, with his old armour on,
Ere, gonfalon in hand, that streamed aloft,
As conscious of its glorious destiny,
So soon to float o'er mosque and minaret,
He sailed away, five hundred gallant ships,
Their lofty sides hung with emblazoned shields,
Following his track to fame. He went to die;
But of his trophies four arrived ere long,
Snatched from destruction- the four steeds divine,
They were placed in the floor as memorials. The brass was engraven with the words addressed by the Pope to the Emperor, "Super aspidem et basilicum ambulabis," &c. Thou shalt tread upon the asp and the basilisk: the lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under foot.
2 Alexander III. He fled in disguise to Venice, and is said to have passed the first night on the steps of San Salvatore. The entrance is from the Mercería, near the foot of the Rialto; and it is thus recorded, under his escutcheon, in a small tablet at the door. "Alexandro III. Pont. Max. pernoctanti."
1 See Geoffrey de Villehardouin, in Script. Byzant. t. xx.
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