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With theatres, basilicas adorned;
A scene of light and glory, a dominion,
That has endured the longest among men.

And whence the talisman, whereby she rose,
Towering ? 'Twas found there in the barren sea.
Want led to Enterprise ;* and, far or near,
Who met not the Venetian ?-now among
The Ægean Isles, steering from port to port,
Landing and bartering ; now, no stranger there,
In Cairo, or without the eastern gate,
Ere yet the Cafila + came, listening to hear
Its bells approaching from the Red-Sea coast;
Then on the Euxine, and that smaller Sea
Of Azoph, in elose converse with the Russ,
And Tartar; on his lowly deck receiving
Pearls from the Persian Gulf, gems from Golconde ;
Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of love,
From Georgia, from Circassia. Wandering round,
When in the rich bazaar he saw, displayed,
Treasures from climes unknown, he asked and learnt,
And, travelling slowly upward, drew ere long

* “ Il fallut subsister; ils tirèrent leur subsistance de tout l'univers.”


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† A Caravan.

From the well-head, supplying all below;
Making the Imperial City of the East,
Herself, his tributary.-If we turn
To those black forests, where, through many an age,
Night without day, no axe the silence broke,
Or seldom, save where Rhine or Danube rolled ;
Where o'er the narrow glen a castle hangs,
And, like the wolf that hungered at his door,
The baron lived by rapine-there we meet,
In 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,
Jugglers, stage-dancers. Well might CHARLEMAIN,
And his brave peers, each with his visor up,
On their long lances lean and gaze awhile,
When the Venetian to their eyes

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 age, each in a triple crown,

And in his tremulous hands grasping the keys
That can alone, as he would signify,
Unlock Heaven's gate.


HAPPY is he who loves companionship,
And lights on thee, Luigi. Thee I found,
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;
Wert generous, grateful, not without ambition.
Had it depended on thy will alone,
Thou wouldst have numbered in thy family
At least six Doges and the first in fame.
But 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

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