But still and cold, like jewels bedecking death

or marble crest.

The heart that once within thee swelled with pride,

At conquering galleys, or victorious arms,

Responds no more to triumphs or alarms,

or wash of tide.

Thou lion of gold, who from thy field of blue

Look'st down but on this motley jostling throng,

Where are thy loyal sons, with freedom's song

and heart so true.

No more with music, and with solemn rite

The wondrous sea, and Venice plight their troth,

And bind themselves to each, with solemn oath

to rule with might.

So what see we? A picture of the past

A lovely picture, but a picture still

Of eyes undimmed, a heart that knows no thrill

Nor e'er downcast.

And so with all thy beauty, thou dost lack

That touch of life, without which all must fail

To shine, and which our tears do not avail

Or yet bring back.

Thy life sweet isle is gone, and soon shall we

Share in thy fate, and trouble too shall cease,

When we shall find the land of love and peace

Eternity.

The reader will have gathered by now that much as I would have revelled in an opportunity to have had a