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VENICE.
BY MISS L. E. LANDON.
I.
Aye, the Ocean has bright daughters,
Each one a crowned queen;
Whose empire o'er the waters
A fairy tale has been;
A tale of pomp and glory,
Of fame on land and sea,
An old historic story,
Such Venice tells of thee.
The soldier and the sailor
Were each of them thine own;
The Pilgrim's cheek grew paler,
Where'er thy name was known.
II.
Where the Ottoman's white crescent
Arose o'er Christian blood,
Was the winged Lion present,
To pour a darker flood.
That banner met the morning,
St. Mark its guard and guide;
Still the battle front adorning,
His Lion led the tide.
