Madmoments: or First Verseattempts By a Bornnatural. Addressed to the Lightheaded of Society at Large, by Henry Ellison |
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TO VENICE. |
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 | Madmoments: or First Verseattempts |  |
TO VENICE.
1.
Venice thou art a city of the dead,And the dark shadow of Antiquity
Still mantles, like a pall, thy stately, high,
Yet timeworn palaces: have I not read
Thy glory, in old times, but now instead
How do I see thee! oh! it makes me sigh,
To think from what a height, how low doth lie
Thy name! was it for this thy children bled
In Europe's struggle with the Othman foe?
For this thy spirit patient, subtle, free,
Bound with the magic chain of mind, the low
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A trampled and degraded thing? e'en so!
Thou art no more fit mate for Adria's changeless sea!
2.
The waves that break upon the Lido's bankWaft not thy fleets in triumph from the main,
Rich with the spoils of nations! ne'er again
Shall it be thine, to reassert thy Rank
Foremost among the first: thy glory sank,
Like a bright vision, from the eyes of men,
And its place knows it not! fond hope in vain
Would recreate the past; the cup is drank,
Drained to the dregs of woe; and in thy halls
The rank grass mocks the crumbling pride of yore,
And haggard Desolation sits, and calls
With hollow voice, from out the city's core!
Oh 'tis a sad, sad sound, and on me falls
Like a departing wail for times no more!
3.
I've stood on the Rialto's arch by night,And seen the Gondolas quick darting glide,
Like sprites, along the Palaceglassing Tide,
And Venice seemed to rise upon my sight,
Once more from out the deep, from whence the might
Of mind had called her, and in lonely pride
Bade her amid the eternal waves abide,
And be as everlasting! but her light
Is faint among the Nations! Yet still flow
Those waves, as they were wont, and still shall flow,
When nought of Venice lives to greet the sun!
That which is born of Time, Time must lay low
Sooner or later; Giantworth alone
Endures, when cities are but crumbling stone!
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4.
E'en so fair Venice shall it be with thee!The topless Tower, the Dome, the pillar'd Hall,
Shall sink into their native dust, and all
That Pride had piled, as if in Mockery,
To emblem thus his nothingness, must lie
Scattered and strewn, with scarce a stone to call
To mind, the «Queen of waters!» yet she shall
Still rule men's minds, when palpable Powers fail,
A nobler Empire far! these shall she sway,
With these build up a more enduring Home
Than that of Stone; and Gratitude shall lay
A wreath of Evergreens upon her Tomb.
For of such Deeds as Hers, tho' passed away,
The Spirit lives, a Heritage for Aye!
| Madmoments: or First Verseattempts | |