Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/129

How loves a heart, whence the stream of song
Flows like the life-blood, quick, bright, and strong?
How loves a heart, which hath never proved
One breath of the world?—Even so she loved!
Blest, though the Lord of her soul afar,
Was charging the foremost in Moslem war,—
Bearing the flag of St Mark's on high,
As a ruling star in the Grecian sky.
Proud music breathed in her song, when Fame
Gave a tone more thrilling to his name;
And her trust in his love was a woman's faith—
Perfect, and fearing no change but death.

    But the fields are won from the Othman host,
In the land that quell'd the Persian's boast,
And a thousand hearts in Venice burn,
For the day of triumph and return!
—The day is come! the flashing deep
Foams where the galleys of Victory sweep;
And the sceptred City of the wave,
With her festal splendour greets the brave;