VENICE.

Ah, Venice! thou art lovely still;

And though thy clouds are stooping fast,

And Time will have its own wild will,
Thou shalt be lovely to the last.

Nay, even when all thy trophied waves
But sleep round trophies in decay,
When man is gone, or only slaves
Bask in thy noontide's golden ray;

And thou art but a glorious tomb-
Tomb of thine own resplendent fame;
Where moulders valour's sunbright plume,
Once loftiest in war's gallant game.

Where Titian's pencil lies in dust,
By Dandolo's unrivalled sword;
Palladio's pile, Canova's bust,

All trampled by the northern horde.

Yet still, from earth's remotest bound,
The heart shall worship at thy grave;
And love shall consecrate the ground
That hides thy gifted and thy brave.

Fair Venus of earth's sunniest seas,
Oh! to have seen thee in thy prime,
When glory filled thy palaces,

And all was, like thy soul, sublime ;

When not a gale that swept the sea
But bore thy flag in pomp along ;
When not a shout of victory

But echoed from thy gallant throng;

When dewy morn, and twilight dim,
Saw thy rich-freighted argosies;
Heard thy returning sailors' hymn
Saluting their own sapphire skies!

And now, O shade of human power!
Beside thy palace-bordered marge;
By silent port, and crumbling tower,
But steals the fisher's lonely barge.

From polar shore, and burning line,
From the wild billows of the west,
From the dark Indian's diamond mine,
From Ceylon's perfume-breathing nest,

Proud Venice, came thy merchant-kings,
Like eagles trooping o'er the sea ;
Earth's winds and waves their mightier wings,
Earth's gold and glory all for thee!

City of fame! I cannot weep;

The world has drained my fount of tears; Yet I can sorrow o'er thy sleep,

Thou loveliest of all sepulchres.

'Tis true, thy skies are still as bright,
As in thy grandeur's broadest noon;
And thou hast hearts as soft and light,
As ever sailed thy smooth Lagune.

And thou hast witching song and dance— The mask, the mime-is this the whole ?Nay, man's keen wit, and woman's glanceThy form survives-but where thy soul?

But all is past and thou a dream;

A pageant but for fancy's gaze;

A star eclipsed, a sunset gleam;

A funeral pile's last, heavenward blaze!

THE RETROSPECT.

OH! days, that once I used to prize,

Are ye for ever gone!

The veil is taken from my eyes,

And now I stand alone.

Αμφίων.

When once I gave fair fancy scope,
How did this bosom burn!

Oh! happy days of youth and hope,
And will ye ne'er return?

The hours of sickness and of pain
Affection's voice may cheer;
The drooping lip may smile again,
If sooth'd by Friendship's tear.

The stern realities of life

Are harder to endure;

The bitter pangs of mental strife
No mortal aid can cure.

Friends are no longer what they seem,
I know them insincere ;
The past is but a glowing dream,

The future blank and drear.

If none would throw the mask aside,
I'd cling to the deceit,

To feel again that joy and pride,
Which made life's morning sweet.

It may not be vain world, adieu!
Too well I know thee now.

Thou canst not now seem fair and true,
The brand is on thy brow.