—————— In Venice Tasso's echoes are no more.

—Childe Harold Can. IV.

——————

Can Tasso's songs be silent now? Me thought the gondolier would vow Eternal homage to their flow. Yet, as he guides his graceful bark Through noiseless streets he sings, but hark! His thoughts are distant, gloomy, dark. He sings of Venice in other days; Her power, her beauty fills his lays, Nor of his age he tunes the praise. He sings in snatches, plaintive, low, Nor merriment his accents know, Yet music's saddest charm they show. And like a phantom gliding onward, How little does his boat accord With its gay freight and winsome lord. As floating 'neath the arches crumbling, And ruined palaces now tumbling Into the sea with speedy humbling. Ah, who can tell the sad reflection Swift-crowding on the mind's dejection, The softening power of recollection! For she to him was like a maiden Whom youth and gayety did gladden, Nor care nor sorrow ever sadden. Who dwelt in mirth's seductive rounds, And followed pace with music's sounds, Where dance and luxury abounds: Until o'erpowered with joy and sleep, And glee no more her revels keep, She sinks to rest upon the deep. Ages of glory have passed away, The gilded boats with color's play, Yet he alone survives the day, And in his sable home abides— 'Neath the Rialto still he glides— The graceful gallant of the tides.

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Loudoun, Robert. Songs of Venice: and other poems. Cleveland: William W. Williams, 1885. 24-26

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