Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the Fourth
I
1 I stood in Venice,
on the Bridge of Sighs;
2 A palace and a prison
on each hand:
3 I saw from out the
wave her structures rise
4 As from the stroke
of the enchanter's wand:
5 A thousand years
their cloudy wings expand
6 Around me, and a
dying Glory smiles
7 O'er the far times,
when many a subject land
8 Look'd to the winged
Lion's marble piles,
9 Where Venice sate in state, thron'd on her
hundred isles!
II
10 She looks a sea Cybele, fresh
from ocean,
11 Rising with her tiara of proud
towers
12 At airy distance, with majestic
motion,
13 A ruler of the waters and their
powers:
14 And such she was; her daughters
had their dowers
15 From spoils of nations, and
the exhaustless East
16 Pour'd in her lap all gems in
sparkling showers.
17 In purple was she rob'd, and
of her feast
18 Monarchs partook, and deem'd their dignity increas'd.
III
19 In Venice Tasso's echoes are
no more,
20 And silent rows the songless
gondolier;
21 Her palaces are crumbling to
the shore,
22 And music meets not always now
the ear:
23 Those days are gone--but Beauty
still is here.
24 States fall, arts fade--but
Nature doth not die,
25 Nor yet forget how Venice once
was dear,
26 The pleasant place of all festivity,
27 The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy!
IV
28 But unto us she hath a spell
beyond
29 Her name in story, and her long
array
30 Of mighty shadows, whose dim
forms despond
31 Above the dogeless city's vanish'd
sway;
32 Ours is a trophy which will
not decay
33 With the Rialto; Shylock and
the Moor,
34 And Pierre, cannot be swept
or worn away--
35 The keystones of the arch! though
all were o'er,
36 For us repeopl'd were the solitary shore.
V
37 The beings of the mind are not
of clay;
38 Essentially immortal, they create
39 And multiply in us a brighter
ray
40 And more belov'd existence:
that which Fate
41 Prohibits to dull life, in this
our state
42 Of mortal bondage, by these
spirits supplied,
43 First exiles, then replaces
what we hate;
44 Watering the heart whose early
flowers have died,
45 And with a fresher growth replenishing the void.
VI
46 Such is the refuge of our youth
and age,
47 The first from Hope, the last
from Vacancy;
48 And this worn feeling peoples
many a page,
49 And, maybe, that which grows
beneath mine eye:
50 Yet there are things whose strong
reality
51 Outshines our fairy-land; in
shape and hues
52 More beautiful than our fantastic
sky,
53 And the strange constellations
which the Muse
54 O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse:
VII
55 I saw or dream'd of such--but
let them go;
56 They came like truth--and disappear'd
like dreams;
57 And whatsoe'er they were--are
now but so:
58 I could replace them if I would;
still teems
59 My mind with many a form which
aptly seems
60 Such as I sought
for, and at moments found;
61 Let these too go--for waking
Reason deems
62 Such overweening fantasies unsound,
63 And other voices speak, and other sights surround.
VIII
64 I've taught me other tongues,
and in strange eyes
65 Have made me not a stranger;
to the mind
66 Which is itself, no changes
bring surprise;
67 Nor is it harsh to make, nor
hard to find
68 A country with--ay, or without
mankind;
69 Yet was I born where men are
proud to be--
70 Not without cause; and should
I leave behind
71 The inviolate island of the
sage and free,
72 And seek me out a home by a remoter sea,
IX
73 Perhaps I lov'd it well: and
should I lay
74 My ashes in a soil which is
not mine,
75 My spirit shall resume it--if
we may
76 Unbodied choose a sanctuary.
I twine
77 My hopes of being remember'd
in my line
78 With my land's language: if
too fond and far
79 These aspirations in their scope
incline,
80 If my fame should be, as my
fortunes are,
81 Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar
X
82 My name from out the temple where
the dead
83 Are honour'd by the nations--let
it be--
84 And light the laurels on a loftier
head!
85 And be the Spartan's epitaph
on me--
86 "Sparta hath many a worthier
son than he."
87 Meantime I seek no sympathies,
nor need;
88 The thorns which I have reap'd
are of the tree
89 I planted: they have torn me,
and I bleed:
90 I should have known what fruit would spring from such
a seed.
XI
91 The spouseless Adriatic mourns
her lord;
92 And annual marriage now no more
renew'd,
93 The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestor'd,
94 Neglected garment of her widowhood!
95 St. Mark yet sees his lion where
he stood
96 Stand, but in mockery of his
wither'd power,
97 Over the proud Place where an
Emperor sued,
98 And monarchs gaz'd and envied
in the hour
99 When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower.
XII
100 The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns--
101 An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt;
102 Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains
103 Clank over sceptred cities, nations melt
104 From power's high pinnacle, when they have
felt
105 The sunshine for a while, and downward
go
106 Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's
belt:
107 Oh, for one hour of blind old Dandolo,
108 Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe!
XIII
109 Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of
brass,
110 Their gilded collars glittering in the
sun;
111 But is not Doria's menace come to pass?
112 Are they not bridled?--Venice, lost and
won,
113 Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done,
114 Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she
rose!
115 Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and
shun,
116 Even in destruction's depth, her foreign
foes,
117 From whom submission wrings an infamous repose.
XIV
118 In youth she was all glory, a new Tyre,
119 Her very by-word sprung from victory,
120 The "Planter of the Lion," which through
fire
121 And blood she bore o'er subject earth and
sea;
122 Though making many slaves, herself still
free,
123 And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite;
124 Witness Troy's rival, Candia! Vouch it,
ye
125 Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight!
126 For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight.
XV
127 Statues of glass--all shiver'd--the long
file
128 Of her dead Doges are declin'd to dust;
129 But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous
pile
130 Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid
trust;
131 Their sceptre broken, and their sword in
rust,
132 Have yielded to the stranger: empty halls,
133 Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such
as must
134 Too oft remind her who and what enthralls,
135 Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls.
XVI
136 When Athens' armies fell at Syracuse,
137 And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of
war,
138 Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse,
139 Her voice their only ransom from afar:
140 See! as they chant the tragic hymn, the
car
141 Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins
142 Fall from his hands--his idle scimitar
143 Starts from its belt--he rends his captive's
chains,
144 And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains.
XVII
145 Thus, Venice! if no stronger claim were
thine,
146 Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot,
147 Thy choral memory of the Bard divine,
148 Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the
knot
149 Which ties thee to thy tyrants; and thy
lot
150 Is shameful to the nations--most of all,
151 Albion, to thee: the Ocean queen should
not
152 Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall
153 Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall.
XVIII
154 I loved her from my boyhood; she to me
155 Was as a fairy city of the heart,
156 Rising like water-columns from the sea,
157 Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart;
158 And Otway, Radcliffe, Schiller, Shakespeare's
art,
159 Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so,
160 Although I found her thus, we did not part;
161 Perchance even dearer in her day of woe,
162 Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show....