XII.

ST. MARK'S PLACE.

OVER how many tracts, vast, desolate,

Nothing, from day to day, from year to year,

Passes, save now and then a cloud, a meteor,

A famished eagle ranging for his prey;

While on this spot of earth, the work of man,

How much has been transacted! Emperors, Popes,

Warriors, from far and wide, laden with spoil,

Landing, have here performed their several parts,

Then left the stage to others. Not a stone

In the broad pavement, but to him who has

An eye, an ear for the Inanimate World,

Tells of Past Ages.

In that temple-porch,

(The brass is gone, the porphyry remains,)

Did Barbarossa fling his mantle off,

And, kneeling, on his neck receive the foot

Of the proud Pontiff. In that temple-porch,

The cross just then assumed at the high altar.

There did he stand, erect, invincible,

Tho' 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."

-There did he stand, erect, invincible;

Ere he set sail, five hundred gallant ships,

Their lofty sides hung with emblazoned shields,

Following his track to Glory. He returned not; But of his trophies four arrived ere-long,

Snatched from destruction - the four steeds divine,

That strike the ground, resounding with their feet, d

And from their nostrils sport ethereal flame

Over that very portal — in the place

Where in an after-time Petrarch was seen

F

Sitting beside the Doge, on his right hand,

Amid the ladies of the Court of Venice,

Their beauty shaded from the setting sun

By many-coloured hangings; while, beneath,

Knights of all nations, some from merry England,

Their lances in the rest, charged for the prize.

The sea, that emblem of uncertainty,

Changed not so fast for many and many an age,

As this small spot. To-day 'twas full of maskers; And lo, the madness of the Carnival,

The monk, the nun, the holy legate masqued :

To-morrow came the scaffold and the heads-man;

And he died there by torch-light, bound and gagged,

Whose name and crime they knew not.

Underneath,

Where the Archangel, turning with the wind,

Blesses the City from the topmost-tower,

His arms extended - there continually

Two phantom-shapes were sitting, side by side,

Or up, and, as in sport, chasing each other;

Horror and Mirth. Both vanished in one hour!

But Ocean only, when again he claims

His ancient rule, shall wash away their footsteps.

Enter the Palace by the marble stairs

Down which the grizzly head of old Faliero

Rolled from the block. ee Pass onward through the

Chamber,

Where, among all drawn in their ducal robes,

But one is wanting -where, thrown off in heat,