CANTO II.

CONTENTS.

Sunset on Venice-appearance from the Sea. The Rialto: Records of Venice reflections. Fall of Venice: St. Mark's Place, and Church: interior-Vespers. Venetian Beauty. Titian: his landscapes. Italian Sunsets. Lord Byron: his character. Farewell to Venice-Ravenna;

Stanzas to

The Pass of Furlo: The Consul Nero. The Waterfall: The Rubicon, and Cæsar's passage-character of Cæsar. Thoughts on Fame. Rimini-the Past recalled-entrance of Cæsar; remembrances of Rimini. Approach to Thrasimène: stormy sky. Battle of Thrasimène. Temple of Clitumnus. Mountain Scenery: The Falls of Terni: appearance from beneath them.-Conclusion.

CANTO II.

I.

THE Sun is setting: leaning o'er the prow,
The Ocean's dark blue waves beneath it heaving,
What millions have not gazed with musing brow

The busy mind a thousand fancies weaving,

As aimless, and as vague as that deceiving
Emblem of Time in fluctuation past;

The mind as mutable: behind it leaving

Upon the tide of circumstances cast,

Its hopes, fears, joys, and griefs, to sink absorbed, at

last.

II.

To sink absorbed-nor leave behind one trace

Of all the infinite of Thought that springs

Heavenward-which sinking, time and life efface:
Of all the dreams, the fond imaginings,

Hopes, wishes, loves, that for themselves make wings,
And rest when shared, or die within the breast,
Ere waked like Music from the sleeping strings:

Oh! who can tell the world of love repressed
That dies in us, unshared-unknown-and unconfessed.

III.

The Sun is setting; are his last rays steeping

Yon wilderness of Clouds that steadfast keep Their station on the blue horizon sleeping; Breasting the waves, yet blending with the Deep? While from their braided edges seem to creep Bright points of spires, now, evanescent grown, As the o'ershadowing sea-mists round them sweep; Away!-no shadows they, but, nearer shown, Fair Venice seated still upon her Ocean-throne!

IV.

Yea, there she rises on the waters lying;

Her spires and gilded domes reflected shine
With the red Sun's last glory o'er them dying!

Reared like some broken, vast, deserted shrine,
Over the clear, soft, floating hyaline!

Her Ocean throne, where Power so oft bowed down,
Deeming her sun could never know decline;

There still she sits; a queen without her crown ;

Robed with the haloing memories of her past renown.

V.

Enter-ye glide along as in a dream,

When all is sad, mysterious, strange and wild :

'Mid streets whose channels are the Ocean's stream;

'Midst marble palaces on each side piled, Looking desertion! Yet unreconciled

To be the sepulchres of greatness fled:

Where Silence reigns, but she who is the child

Of Desolation; for ye hear no tread,

No shout, no trump to wake this city of the Dead!