XXI.

W. MEASOM.

C. IV. ST. 1.

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs,—
A palace and a prison on each hand;

I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times when many a subject land

Looked to the winged Lion's marble piles,

Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.