The past again is present-months and years
Of absence are forgot:-the smiles and tears,
The sunshine and the clouds once o'er us shed,
Again invest the distant and the dead:-
While mem'ry conquers time, and, ever true,
Gives each beloved, familiar face to view.
Amidst her fleeting, visionary train
One noble form oft glads my sight again,
Whose youth was passed upon the Ocean-wave,
In spirit-stirring scenes, and emprise brave,—
Dauntless, and eager for renown and fame,
How many gallant deeds have borne his name!
As toward Egypt's strand his glad bark flew,
And tow'ring fanes rose proudly to the view,
One solitary column fixed his glance,
He knew its summit had been crowned by France;-
That there Napoleon, in his triumph's hour,
Had reared a trophy of his transient power,
To tell, in other years, that o'er that scene
The Gallic eagle had triumphant been:-
Little deemed he that one bold Briton's hand,
Alone, should baffle all his toiling band,—
That one unaided youth should bear away
The mocking token of his fancied sway :—
But English pride and prowess spoke its doom,
As its tall crest upreared o'er Ocean's foam:-
An English heart no fears of danger knew,
But, firmly nerved each peril to subdue,
Undaunted gained the column's giddy height,
And bore away the prize with proud delight.
Not his the magic of a titled name,
Or this bold deed had found its way to fame-
But as a rash, a boyish prank, passed o'er,
'Twas mentioned, wondered at, and heard no more :—
Still it may glad his heart, though far away,
When o'er my artless song his glance shall stray,
To know how oft, 'mid childhood's bounding glee,
I've paused, delighted, at my mother's knee,
To hear her tell, with a fond sister's pride,
How his exploits all other feats outvied;
Oh! how my young heart bounded as she spoke!
As each adventure some new feeling woke;
While dreams of fame and glory o'er me broke,
To fade and die like morning clouds away,
Before the light of reason's dawning ray;
Or like the billow we have watched roll on,
Till, as it neared the strand, 'twas lost and gone.
What bright, loved memories dost thou bring to me
From out the depths of time,-thou glorious Sea!
Oh, that 'twere mine o'er thy bright waves to roam
Where sunnier shores are girded with thy foam !—
Guiding my prow across the boundless deep,
To spots where empires in their ruins sleep,
That dim Oblivion vainly strives to claim,
Or wrest away their heritage of fame;
Scenes hallowed yet by deeds of ages past,
Whose fadeless wreaths of glory still shall last
In unstained verdure-though each realm may now
No longer weave fresh laurels for her brow,
But fallen and degenerate remains,
Yielding, with passive tameness, to her chains;
Bending to tyrants low her queenly head,
E'en while their fetters are around her spread.
Think upon VENICE, in the days of old,-
The glorious records of her fame unfold;-
See her subdue Byzantium's palmy pride, (2)
As her triumphant galleys sweep the tide,
Bearing the standard of their sea-born home,
To "plant the lion" on Sophia's dome :- (3)
See the haught Saracen retreat and yield
To brave Venetians, both by flood and field;
Their very name with mighty spells was fraught,
Venice and victory one pervading thought!
Then they had chieftains, fearless leading on,
Despising perils till their goal was won:
And, eminent above the rest, one master-mind (4)
Led them to conquest-he was old-and blind :---
Hear this, degenerate children of the land
For which Dandolo sought a distant strand;
Hear it, and blush, that no such soul remains
To free his city from her vassal chains;
To bid her standard be once more unfurl'd,
And prove the fame of Venice to the world;
To prove her valour is not wholly lost,
Nor her proud records but an empty boast;
To see her from her woes and bondage free,
Shining once more the gem of earth and sea.
No-there is none to raise a freeman's sword,
None but would shrink and tremble at the word;
None dare relume the now expiring spark,
None dare unyoke the "Horses of St. Mark," (5)
Or rouse the dormant Lion from his lair,
Again to bid his enemies despair;-
Again o'er glorious Venice to preside,
And see restored her wealth, her pomp, her pride.
But vain the thought-now, pleased with Love's light
In trim Gondolas, idly float along
The changed descendants of each princely line,
Whose glory still illumes the fallen shrine :
Idly they float in ignominious ease,
With minds as light, as fickle as the breeze;
Reckless of aught beyond the passing scene,
As though a nobler era ne'er had been,-
As though their marble halls had never known
Spirits more worthy Venice than their own;
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