V.
When the summer day declining,
Sank purple o'er her towers,
How lovely was the shining
Of evening's early hours;
Then beneath the moonlight gliding,
Swept the gondolas along,
While the gondoliers seemed guiding
Their dark barks with a song.
With barcarolles sweet laden,
The wind to music turned;
While the cheek of many a maiden
With conscious crimson burned.
VI.
There was many a princely greeting
On good St. Mark's broad square;
And many a festal meeting
Rejoiced the midnight air;
For her nobles dwelt in palaces,
Whose marble mocked the brine,
And drank from golden chalices
The Cypriot's golden wine.
For she was called "The Pleasant,"
That city of the mask;
Where the light hours of the present
Were sped with lute and flask.
VII.
But her glory is departed,
And her pleasure is no more,
Like a pale queen, broken-hearted,
Left lonely on the shore.
P
