VII.

   I saw or dreamed of such,—­but let them go —
   They came like truth, and disappeared like dreams;
   And whatsoe’er they were—­are now but so;
   I could replace them if I would:  still teems
   My mind with many a form which aptly seems
   Such as I sought for, and at moments found;
   Let these too go—­for waking reason deems
   Such overweening phantasies unsound,
And other voices speak, and other sights surround.

VIII.

   I’ve taught me other tongues, and in strange eyes
   Have made me not a stranger; to the mind
   Which is itself, no changes bring surprise;
   Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find
   A country with—­ay, or without mankind;
   Yet was I born where men are proud to be,
   Not without cause; and should I leave behind
   The inviolate island of the sage and free,
And seek me out a home by a remoter sea,

IX.

   Perhaps I loved it well:  and should I lay
   My ashes in a soil which is not mine,
   My spirit shall resume it—­if we may
   Unbodied choose a sanctuary.  I twine
   My hopes of being remembered in my line
   With my land’s language:  if too fond and far
   These aspirations in their scope incline, —
   If my fame should be, as my fortunes are,
Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Oblivion bar.

X.

   My name from out the temple where the dead
   Are honoured by the nations—­let it be —
   And light the laurels on a loftier head! 
   And be the Spartan’s epitaph on me —
   ‘Sparta hath many a worthier son than he.’ 
   Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need;
   The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree
   I planted,—­they have torn me, and I bleed: 
I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

XI.

   The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord;
   And, annual marriage now no more renewed,
   The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored,
   Neglected garment of her widowhood! 
   St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood
   Stand, but in mockery of his withered power,
   Over the proud place where an Emperor sued,
   And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour
When Venice was a queen with an unequalled dower.

XII.

   The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns —
   An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt;
   Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains
   Clank over sceptred cities; nations melt
   From power’s high pinnacle, when they have felt
   The sunshine for a while, and downward go
   Like lauwine loosened from the mountain’s belt: 
   Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo! 
The octogenarian chief, Byzantium’s conquering foe.