The good old prince, his father-- Was ever grief like his!-- They forced, as judge, to gaze upon His own child's agonies! No outward mark of sorrow Disturb'd his awful mien-- No bursting sigh escaped to tell The anguish'd heart within.
Twice tortured and twice banish'd, The hapless victim sighed To see his old ancestral home, His children and his bride: Life seem'd a weary burthen Too heavy to be borne, From all might cheer his waning hours A hopeless exile torn.
In vain--no fond entreaty Could pierce the ear of hate-- He knew the Senate pitiless, Yet rashly sought his fate; A letter to the Sforza Invoking Milan's aid, He wrote, and placed where spies might see-- 'Twas seen, and was betrayed.
Again the rack--the torture-- Oh! cruelty accurst!-- The wretched victim meekly bore-- They could but wreak their worst; So he but lay in Venice, Contented, if they gave What little space his bones might fill-- The measure of a grave.
The white-haired sire, heart-broken, Survived his happier son, To learn a Senate's gratitude For faithful service done; What never Doge of Venice Before had lived to tell, He heard for a successor peal San Marco's solemn bell.
When, years before, his honours Twice would he fain lay down, They bound him by his princely oath To wear for life the crown; But now, his brow o'ershadow'd By fourscore winters' snows, Their eager malice would not wait A spent life's mournful close.
He doff'd his ducal ensigns In proud obedient haste, And through the sculptured corridors With staff-propt footsteps paced; Till on the giant's staircase, Which first in princely pride He mounted as Venezia's Doge, The old man paused--and died.
Thus govern'd the Patricians When Venice owned their sway, And thus Venetian liberties Became a helpless prey: They sold us to the Teuton, They sold us to the Gaul-- Thank God and good San Marco, We've triumph'd over all!
Ho! gentlemen of Venice! Ho! soldiers of St. Mark! You've driven from your palaces The Austrian, cold and dark! But better for Venezia The stranger ruled again, Than the old patrician tyranny, The Senate and the Ten!
[Footnote 16: This and the preceding poem were written as illustrations of two beautiful plates which appeared in the Maple Leaf. One, Zayda presenting a rose to her supposed brother, Selim; the other, the Doge Foscari passing sentence of exile upon his son. The incidents in the Venetian story are all historical facts.]