From Power's high pinnacle, when they have felt Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. XIII. Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, XIV. In youth she was all glory, a new Tyre, The " Planter of the Lion," which through fire XV. 60 65 70 75 80 Statues of glass - all shiver'd the long file Of her dead Doges are declined to dust; But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile 85 Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as must 90 XVI. When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse, See! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car Of the o'ermaster'd 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. XVII. Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. 95 100 105 XVIII. I loved her from my boyhood Was as a fairy city of the heart, she to me ΠΟ Rising like water-columns from the sea, Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. 115 [CASCATA DEL MARMORE.] CHILDE HAROLD, CANTO IV. THE roar of waters! LXIX from the headlong height Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice; LXX. And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground, Making it all one emerald: - how profound The gulf! and how the giant clement From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent. With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent 5 10 15 LXXI. To the broad column which rolls on, and shows Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes With many windings through the vale: - Look back! As if to sweep down all things in its track, LXXII. Horribly beautiful! but on the verge, From side to side, beneath the glittering morn, By the distracted waters, bears screne Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn: [THE COLISEUM.] CHILDE HAROLD, CANTO IV. CXL. I SEE before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand his manly brow Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. CXLI. his eyes He heard it, but he heeded not ΙΟ But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire, 15 All this rush'd with his blood - Shall he expire, And unavenged?-Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire! CXLII. But here, where murder breathed her bloody steam; Here where the Roman million's blame or praise My voice sounds much—and fall the stars' faint rays 25 On the arena void seats crush'd-walls bow'd And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. CXLIII. A ruin yet what ruin! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd; Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, 30 And marvel where the spoil could have appear’d. Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd' Alas! developed, opens the decay, When the colossal fabric's form is near'd; It will not bear the brightness of the day, Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft away. 35 CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to climb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar's head; When the light shines serene but doth not glare, 40 Heroes have trod this spot 'tis on their dust ye tread. 45 |