Lord Byron Venice and the Horses of St. Mark

Lord Byron

Precipitated into the Depths

“The Swabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns —
An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ;
Kingdoms are shrunk to provinces, and chains
Clank over sceptred cities ; nations meit
From power’s high pinnacle, when they have felt
The sunshine for a while, and downward go
Like lauwine loosen'd from the mountain's belt ;
Oh for one hour of blind old Dandolo!
Th’octogenarian chief, Byzantium’s conquering foe.”
Lord Byron - Child Harold Pilgrimage Canto the Fourth - 12

The Horses of St. Mark

“Before St Mark still glow his steeds of brass,
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ;
But is not Doria's menace come to pass?
Are they not bridled? — Venice, lost and won,
Her thirteen hundred yean of freedom done.
Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose!
Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun,
Even In destruction's depth, her foreign foes,
From whom submission wrings an infamous repose.”
Lord Byron - Child Harold Pilgrimage Canto the Fourth - 13

Through Fire and Blood

“In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre ;
Her very by-word sprung from victory,
The "Planter of the Lion" which through fire
And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea ;
Though making many slaves, herself still free,
And Europe’s bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite ;
Witness Troy’s rival, Candia! Vouch it, ye
Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight!
For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight.”
Lord Byron - Child Harold Pilgrimage Canto the Fourth - 14

Your Enchanted Walls

“Statues of glass — all shiver’d — the long file
Of her dead Doges are declined to dust ;
But where they dweit, the vast and sumptuous pile
Bespeaks the pageant of their splendid trust ;
Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust.
Have yielded to the stranger: empty halls,
Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such a must
Too oft remind her who and what enthrals,
Have flung a desolate cloud o’er Venice’ lovely walls.”
Lord Byron - Child Harold Pilgrimage Canto the Fourth - 15