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Mid this magnificent array,
 Those lofty, thrilling strains are o'er.
Silent as death's calm, noiseless sleep,
 Venice, is now thy giddy throng;
Nor would thy children idly weep,
 Were those last sounds thy parting song.

Yes, glorious were it now to die,
 Free as thy sires thy birthright gave;
And proud, beneath a freeman's sky,
 To find a freeman's hallowed grave.
The glittering pledge of faith is given:
 The monarch weds the yielding sea;
And loud, beneath the arch of heaven,
 Proud bride! arise those shouts for thee.

That bridal pageant was the last,
 That ever here thy eye beheld;
Those varied strains for aye have passed,
 That richly on the soft air swelled.
Venice, thy palmy days are o'er.
 What art thou, City of the Isles?
Upon this festal pomp, no more
 The sun in pride and glory smiles.

Yet, beautiful in ruins stand,
 To mark thy former glorious hour,
And, sadly, to each listening land,
 Thy lesson teach of truth and power.
And may our nation learn from thee
 What gives alone immortal fame;
Our strength alone in virtue be,
 Our pride alone,—a freeman's name.