But lavish patrons of Art's glorious works,
Which still survive for us-their sole bequest-
Amid the scenes where Titian's spirit lurks:
In their huge marble tombs long may they rest
In undisturbed repose-their memory not unblest!

3

For poets, like myself, painters, and all

Who wander here and there in search of beauty,
Venice is still a Venus, to enthral

The senses, and entice from sterner duty
Awaiting us in London's region sooty.

Oh! I could sit enthralled for hours, and gaze
On yon superb pile styled "Della Salute,"

Or watching Dame Fortuna's * fickle ways,

As she with outstretched skirt each varying breeze betrays.

4

But would you view the scene in all its glory,
Forget not, on some clear and sunny day,
To mount the tower of "Giorgio Maggiore,"
And see below you spread, in bright array,

* The weather-vane on the Dogana tower is a figure of "Fortuna " spreading out a very flimsy garment to catch the breeze.

Each isle and inlet of the beauteous bay;

And, in the midst, Old Ocean's quondam Bride, With her attendant nymphs, almost as gay,

To outward seeming, as when, in her pride

She reigned a mighty queen, and every foe defied!

5

I might perhaps have said more in her praise
But for this morning's unexpected blow;
When, gazing forth for the sun's genial rays,
I saw instead a storm of pelting snow!*
In Venice a most rare event, I trow;
But it has struck a chill into my heart,

And frozen up my poem's fervid flow.

Venice! farewell!-All lovely as thou art,

Oh! that in such cold guise our lot should be to part !

* This refers to a snowstorm of extraordinary severity which occurred in October 1869.

Monte Rosa, from Macugnaga.

[Macugnaga is one of the loveliest spots in the Alps, at the foot of Monte Rosa, on the Italian side.]

QUEEN of the Alps! thy battlemented crest *
Like a huge hydra rears its many heads,
Defiant as a fortress;-thy long rest

Through countless ages, 'mid pure snowy beds,
Was undisturbed by prying gaze of man;
Or if defiled by his presumptuous tread,
Thy vengeance swift destroyed his daring plan,
Pouring dread avalanches o'er his head,
Sweeping him from thee like a noxious thing!
But now, man's turn of triumph has begun ;
No longer need he yield to queen or king,
And royalty, e'en here, its race has run.
But beauty such as thine shall ever reign
Within our hearts, nor be unveiled in vain!

* The Rev. S. W. King, in his "Italian Valleys of the Pennine Alps," says regarding Monte Rosa, "The many summits may be compared to the battlements of an immense bastion of snow alps."