The Works of Lord Byron Volume II Part 58

CANTO THE FOURTH[375]

I.

I stood in Venice, on the "Bridge of Sighs;"[376][1.H.]

A Palace and a prison on each hand: I saw from out the wave her structures rise As from the stroke of the Enchanter's wand:[377]

A thousand Years their cloudy wings expand Around me, and a dying Glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles, Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles![lb]

II.

She looks a sea Cybele,[378] fresh from Ocean, Rising with her tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion, A Ruler of the waters and their powers: And such she was;--her daughters had their dowers From spoils of nations, and the exhaustless East[lc]

Poured in her lap all gems in sparkling showers.[379]

In purple was she robed,[380] and of her feast Monarchs partook, and deemed their dignity increased.[ld]

III.

In Venice Ta.s.so's echoes are no more,[2.H.]

And silent rows the songless Gondolier;[381]

Her palaces are crumbling to the sh.o.r.e, And Music meets not always now the ear: Those days are gone--but Beauty still is here.

States fall--Arts fade--but Nature doth not die, Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, The pleasant place of all festivity,[le]

The Revel of the earth--the Masque of Italy!

IV.

But unto us she hath a spell beyond Her name in story, and her long array Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond Above the Dogeless city's vanished sway; Ours is a trophy which will not decay With the Rialto;[382] Shylock and the Moor, And Pierre,[383] can not be swept or worn away-- The keystones of the Arch! though all were o'er, For us repeopled were the solitary sh.o.r.e.

V.

The Beings of the Mind are not of clay: Essentially immortal, they create And multiply in us a brighter ray And more beloved existence:[384] that which Fate Prohibits to dull life in this our state[lf]

Of mortal bondage, by these Spirits supplied, First exiles, then replaces what we hate; Watering the heart whose early flowers have died, And with a fresher growth replenis.h.i.+ng the void.

VI.

Such is the refuge of our youth and age-- The first from Hope, the last from Vacancy;[385]

And this wan feeling peoples many a page--[lg]

And, may be, that which grows beneath mine eye:[lh]

Yet there are things whose strong reality Outs.h.i.+nes our fairy-land; in shape and hues[li]

More beautiful than our fantastic sky, And the strange constellations which the Muse O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse:

VII.

I saw or dreamed of such,--but let them go,-- They came like Truth--and disappeared like dreams; And whatsoe'er they were--are now but so: I could replace them if I would; still teems My mind with many a form which aptly seems Such as I sought for, and at moments found; Let these too go--for waking Reason deems Such over-weening phantasies unsound, And other voices speak, and other sights surround.

VIII.

I've taught me other tongues--and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger; to the mind Which is itself, no changes bring surprise; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with--aye, or without mankind; Yet was I born where men are proud to be,-- Not without cause; and should I leave behind[lj]

The inviolate Island of the sage and free, And seek me out a home by a remoter sea,[lk]

IX.

Perhaps I loved it well; and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, My Spirit shall resume it--if we may[ll]

Unbodied choose a sanctuary.[386] I twine My hopes of being remembered in my line With my land's language: if too fond and far These aspirations in their scope incline,-- If my Fame should be, as my fortunes are, Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar

X.

My name from out the temple where the dead Are honoured by the Nations--let it be-- And light the Laurels on a loftier head!

And be the Spartan's epitaph on me-- "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."[387]

Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need-- The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted,--they have torn me,--and I bleed: I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

XI.

The spouseless Adriatic mourns her Lord,[lm]

And annual marriage now no more renewed-- The Bucentaur[388] lies rotting unrestored, Neglected garment of her widowhood!

St. Mark yet sees his Lion[389] where he stood[3.H.]

Stand, but in mockery of his withered power, Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued,[ln][390]

And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a Queen with an unequalled dower.

XII.

The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns--[4.H.]

An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt; Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities; Nations melt From Power's high pinnacle, when they have felt The suns.h.i.+ne 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 bra.s.s, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun; But is not Doria's menace[393] come to pa.s.s?[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 gla.s.s--all s.h.i.+vered--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]

XVII.