George Gordon Noel Byron ( 10 of 329 )
Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
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Parent of golden dreams, Romance!
Auspicious queen of childish joys,
Who lead'st along, in airy dance,
Thy votive train of girls and boys.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.
Hot from the hands promiscuously applied,
Round the slight waist, or down the glowing side.
I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
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I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand;
I saw from out the wave of her structure's rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter's wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying Glory smiles
O'er the far times, when many a subject land
Look'd to the winged Lion's marble pines,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles.
Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease,
He makes a solitude and calls it--peace!
Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease,
He makes a solitude and calls it--peace!
Right--that will do for the marines.
Right--that will do for the marines.
But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.
But owned that smile, if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer.
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell--
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,--
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Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell--
Then shriek'd the timid, and stood still the brave,--
Then some leap'd overboard with fearful yell,
As eager to anticipate their grave.
A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
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A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping,
Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye
Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping
In sight, then lost amidst the forestry
Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping
On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy;
A huge, dun cupola, like a foolscap crown
On a fool's head--and there is London Town.
Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
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Yet still there whispers the small voice within,
Heard through Gain's silence, and o'er Glory's din;
Whatever creed be taught or land be trod,
Man's conscience is the oracle of God.
