No More Learning

From the Senate?

_Ang_. I would not interrupt him in his duty
And theirs.

_Doge_. The Senate's duty! you mistake;
'Tis we who owe all service to the Senate.

_Ang_. I thought the Duke had held command in Venice.

_Doge_. He shall. --But let that pass. --We will be jocund. 160
How fares it with you? have you been abroad?
The day is overcast, but the calm wave
Favours the gondolier's light skimming oar;
Or have you held a levee of your friends?
Or has your music made you solitary?
Say--is there aught that you would will within
The little sway now left the Duke? or aught
Of fitting splendour, or of honest pleasure,
Social or lonely, that would glad your heart,
To compensate for many a dull hour, wasted 170
On an old man oft moved with many cares?
Speak, and 'tis done.

_Ang_. You're ever kind to me.
I have nothing to desire, or to request,
Except to see you oftener and calmer.

_Doge_. Calmer?

_Ang_. Aye, calmer, my good Lord. --Ah, why
Do you still keep apart, and walk alone,
And let such strong emotions stamp your brow,
As not betraying their full import, yet
Disclose too much?

_Doge_. Disclose too much! --of what?
What is there to disclose?

_Ang_. A heart so ill 180
At ease.

_Doge_. 'Tis nothing, child. --But in the state
You know what daily cares oppress all those
Who govern this precarious commonwealth;
Now suffering from the Genoese without,
And malcontents within--'tis this which makes me
More pensive and less tranquil than my wont.

_Ang_. Yet this existed long before, and never
Till in these late days did I see you thus.
Forgive me; there is something at your heart
More than the mere discharge of public duties, 190
Which long use and a talent like to yours
Have rendered light, nay, a necessity,
To keep your mind from stagnating. 'Tis not
In hostile states, nor perils, thus to shake you,--
You, who have stood all storms and never sunk,
And climbed up to the pinnacle of power
And never fainted by the way, and stand
Upon it, and can look down steadily
Along the depth beneath, and ne'er feel dizzy.
Were Genoa's galleys riding in the port, 200
Were civil fury raging in Saint Mark's,
You are not to be wrought on, but would fall,
As you have risen, with an unaltered brow:
Your feelings now are of a different kind;
Something has stung your pride, not patriotism.

_Doge_. Pride! Angiolina? Alas! none is left me.

_Ang_. Yes--the same sin that overthrew the angels,
And of all sins most easily besets
Mortals the nearest to the angelic nature:
The vile are only vain; the great are proud. 210

_Doge_. I _had_ the pride of honour, of _your_ honour,
Deep at my heart--But let us change the theme.

_Ang_. Ah no! --As I have ever shared your kindness
In all things else, let me not be shut out
From your distress: were it of public import,
You know I never sought, would never seek
To win a word from you; but feeling now
Your grief is private, it belongs to me
To lighten or divide it. Since the day
When foolish Steno's ribaldry detected 220
Unfixed your quiet, you are greatly changed,
And I would soothe you back to what you were.

_Doge_. To what I was! --have you heard Steno's sentence?

_Ang_. No.

_Doge_. A month's arrest.

_Ang_. Is it not enough?

_Doge_. Enough! --yes, for a drunken galley slave,
Who, stung by stripes, may murmur at his master;
But not for a deliberate, false, cool villain,
Who stains a Lady's and a Prince's honour
Even on the throne of his authority.

_Ang_. There seems to be enough in the conviction 230
Of a patrician guilty of a falsehood:
All other punishment were light unto
His loss of honour.

_Doge_. Such men have no honour;
They have but their vile lives--and these are spared.

_Ang_. You would not have him die for this offence?

_Doge_. Not _now_:--being still alive, I'd have him live
Long as _he_ can; he has ceased to merit death;
The guilty saved hath damned his hundred judges,
And he is pure, for now his crime is theirs.

_Ang_. Oh! had this false and flippant libeller 240
Shed his young blood for his absurd lampoon,
Ne'er from that moment could this breast have known
A joyous hour, or dreamless slumber more.

_Doge_. Does not the law of Heaven say blood for blood?
And he who _taints_ kills more than he who sheds it.
Is it the _pain_ of blows, or _shame_ of blows,
That makes such deadly to the sense of man?
Do not the laws of man say blood for honour,--
And, less than honour, for a little gold?
Say not the laws of nations blood for treason? 250
Is't nothing to have filled these veins with poison
For their once healthful current? is it nothing
To have stained your name and mine--the noblest names?
Is't nothing to have brought into contempt
A Prince before his people? to have failed
In the respect accorded by Mankind
To youth in woman, and old age in man?
To virtue in your sex, and dignity
In ours? --But let them look to it who have saved him.

_Ang_. Heaven bids us to forgive our enemies. 260

_Doge_. Doth Heaven forgive her own? Is there not Hell
For wrath eternal? [df][405]

_Ang_. Do not speak thus wildly--[dg]
Heaven will alike forgive you and your foes.

_Doge_. Amen! May Heaven forgive them!

_Ang_. And will you?

_Doge_. Yes, when they are in Heaven!

_Ang_. And not till then?

_Doge_. What matters my forgiveness? an old man's,
Worn out, scorned, spurned, abused; what matters then
My pardon more than my resentment, both
Being weak and worthless? I have lived too long;
But let us change the argument. --My child! 270
My injured wife, the child of Loredano,
The brave, the chivalrous, how little deemed
Thy father, wedding thee unto his friend,
That he was linking thee to shame! --Alas!
Shame without sin, for thou art faultless. Hadst thou
But had a different husband, _any_ husband
In Venice save the Doge, this blight, this brand,
This blasphemy had never fallen upon thee.
So young, so beautiful, so good, so pure,
To suffer this, and yet be unavenged! 280

_Ang_. I am too well avenged, for you still love me,
And trust, and honour me; and all men know
That you are just, and I am true: what more
Could I require, or you command?

_Doge_. 'Tis well,
And may be better; but whate'er betide,
Be thou at least kind to my memory.

_Ang_. Why speak you thus?

_Doge_. It is no matter why;
But I would still, whatever others think,
Have your respect both now and in my grave.

_Ang_. Why should you doubt it? has it ever failed? 290

_Doge_. Come hither, child! I would a word with you.
Your father was my friend; unequal Fortune
Made him my debtor for some courtesies
Which bind the good more firmly: when, oppressed
With his last malady, he willed our union,
It was not to repay me, long repaid
Before by his great loyalty in friendship;
His object was to place your orphan beauty
In honourable safety from the perils,
Which, in this scorpion nest of vice, assail 300
A lonely and undowered maid. I did not
Think with him, but would not oppose the thought
Which soothed his death-bed.

_Ang_. I have not forgotten
The nobleness with which you bade me speak
If my young heart held any preference
Which would have made me happier; nor your offer
To make my dowry equal to the rank
Of aught in Venice, and forego all claim
My father's last injunction gave you.

_Doge_. Thus,
'Twas not a foolish dotard's vile caprice, 310
Nor the false edge of aged appetite,
Which made me covetous of girlish beauty,
And a young bride: for in my fieriest youth
I swayed such passions; nor was this my age
Infected with that leprosy of lust[406]
Which taints the hoariest years of vicious men,
Making them ransack to the very last
The dregs of pleasure for their vanished joys;
Or buy in selfish marriage some young victim,
Too helpless to refuse a state that's honest, 320
Too feeling not to know herself a wretch.
Our wedlock was not of this sort; you had
Freedom from me to choose, and urged in answer
Your father's choice.

_Ang_. I did so; I would do so
In face of earth and Heaven; for I have never
Repented for my sake; sometimes for yours,
In pondering o'er your late disquietudes.

_Doge_. I knew my heart would never treat you harshly:
I knew my days could not disturb you long;
And then the daughter of my earliest friend, 330
His worthy daughter, free to choose again.
Wealthier and wiser, in the ripest bloom
Of womanhood, more skilful to select
By passing these probationary years,
Inheriting a Prince's name and riches,
Secured, by the short penance of enduring
An old man for some summers, against all
That law's chicane or envious kinsmen might
Have urged against her right; my best friend's child
Would choose more fitly in respect of years, 340
And not less truly in a faithful heart.

_Ang_. My Lord, I looked but to my father's wishes,
Hallowed by his last words, and to my heart
For doing all its duties, and replying
With faith to him with whom I was affianced.
Ambitious hopes ne'er crossed my dreams; and should
The hour you speak of come, it will be seen so.

_Doge_. I do believe you; and I know you true:
For Love--romantic Love--which in my youth
I knew to be illusion, and ne'er saw 350
Lasting, but often fatal, it had been
No lure for me, in my most passionate days,
And could not be so now, did such exist.
But such respect, and mildly paid regard
As a true feeling for your welfare, and
A free compliance with all honest wishes,--
A kindness to your virtues, watchfulness
Not shown, but shadowing o'er such little failings
As Youth is apt in, so as not to check
Rashly, but win you from them ere you knew 360
You had been won, but thought the change your choice;
A pride not in your beauty, but your conduct;
A trust in you; a patriarchal love,
And not a doting homage; friendship, faith,--
Such estimation in your eyes as these
Might claim, I hoped for.

_Ang_. And have ever had.

_Doge_. I think so. For the difference in our years
You knew it choosing me, and chose; I trusted
Not to my qualities, nor would have faith
In such, nor outward ornaments of nature, 370
Were I still in my five and twentieth spring;
I trusted to the blood of Loredano[407]
Pure in your veins; I trusted to the soul
God gave you--to the truths your father taught you--
To your belief in Heaven--to your mild virtues--
To your own faith and honour, for my own.

_Ang_. You have done well. --I thank you for that trust,
Which I have never for one moment ceased
To honour you the more for.

_Doge_. Where is Honour,
Innate and precept-strengthened, 'tis the rock 380
Of faith connubial: where it is not--where
Light thoughts are lurking, or the vanities
Of worldly pleasure rankle in the heart,
Or sensual throbs convulse it, well I know
'Twere hopeless for humanity to dream
Of honesty in such infected blood,
Although 'twere wed to him it covets most:
An incarnation of the poet's God
In all his marble-chiselled beauty, or
The demi-deity, Alcides, in 390
His majesty of superhuman Manhood,
Would not suffice to bind where virtue is not;
It is consistency which forms and proves it:
Vice cannot fix, and Virtue cannot change.
The once fall'n woman must for ever fall;
For Vice must have variety, while Virtue
Stands like the Sun, and all which rolls around
Drinks life, and light, and glory from her aspect.

_Ang_. And seeing, feeling thus this truth in others,
(I pray you pardon me;) but wherefore yield you 400
To the most fierce of fatal passions, and
Disquiet your great thoughts with restless hate
Of such a thing as Steno?

_Doge_. You mistake me.
It is not Steno who could move me thus;
Had it been so, he should--but let that pass.

_Ang_. What is't you feel so deeply, then, even now?

_Doge_. The violated majesty of Venice,
At once insulted in her Lord and laws.

_Ang_. Alas! why will you thus consider it?

_Doge_. I have thought on't till--but let me lead you back 410
To what I urged; all these things being noted,
I wedded you; the world then did me justice
Upon the motive, and my conduct proved
They did me right, while yours was all to praise:
You had all freedom--all respect--all trust
From me and mine; and, born of those who made
Princes at home, and swept Kings from their thrones
On foreign shores, in all things you appeared
Worthy to be our first of native dames.

_Ang_. To what does this conduct?

_Doge_. To thus much--that 420
A miscreant's angry breath may blast it all--
A villain, whom for his unbridled bearing,
Even in the midst of our great festival,
I caused to be conducted forth, and taught
How to demean himself in ducal chambers;
A wretch like this may leave upon the wall
The blighting venom of his sweltering heart,
And this shall spread itself in general poison;
And woman's innocence, man's honour, pass
Into a by-word; and the doubly felon 430
(Who first insulted virgin modesty
By a gross affront to your attendant damsels
Amidst the noblest of our dames in public)
Requite himself for his most just expulsion
By blackening publicly his Sovereign's consort,
And be absolved by his upright compeers.

_Ang_. But he has been condemned into captivity.

_Doge_. For such as him a dungeon were acquittal;
And his brief term of mock-arrest will pass
Within a palace. But I've done with him; 440
The rest must be with you.

_Ang_. With me, my Lord?

_Doge_. Yes, Angiolina. Do not marvel; I
Have let this prey upon me till I feel
My life cannot be long; and fain would have you
Regard the injunctions you will find within
This scroll (_giving her a paper_)
----Fear not; they are for your advantage:
Read them hereafter at the fitting hour.

_Ang_. My Lord, in life, and after life, you shall
Be honoured still by me: but may your days
Be many yet--and happier than the present! 450
This passion will give way, and you will be
Serene, and what you should be--what you were.

_Doge_. I will be what I should be, or be nothing;
But never more--oh! never, never more,
O'er the few days or hours which yet await
The blighted old age of Faliero, shall
Sweet Quiet shed her sunset! Never more
Those summer shadows rising from the past
Of a not ill-spent nor inglorious life,
Mellowing the last hours as the night approaches, 460
Shall soothe me to my moment of long rest.
I had but little more to ask, or hope,
Save the regards due to the blood and sweat,
And the soul's labour through which I had toiled
To make my country honoured. As her servant--
Her servant, though her chief--I would have gone
Down to my fathers with a name serene
And pure as theirs; but this has been denied me.
Would I had died at Zara!

_Ang_. There you saved
The state; then live to save her still. A day, 470
Another day like that would be the best
Reproof to them, and sole revenge for you.

_Doge_.
But one such day occurs within an age;
My life is little less than one, and 'tis
Enough for Fortune to have granted _once_,
That which scarce one more favoured citizen
May win in many states and years. But why
Thus speak I? Venice has forgot that day--
Then why should I remember it? --Farewell,
Sweet Angiolina! I must to my cabinet; 480
There's much for me to do--and the hour hastens. [408]

_Ang_. Remember what you were.

_Doge_. It were in vain!
Joy's recollection is no longer joy,
While Sorrow's memory is a sorrow still.

_Ang_. At least, whate'er may urge, let me implore
That you will take some little pause of rest:
Your sleep for many nights has been so turbid,
That it had been relief to have awaked you,
Had I not hoped that Nature would o'erpower
At length the thoughts which shook your slumbers thus. 490
An hour of rest will give you to your toils
With fitter thoughts and freshened strength.

_Doge_. I cannot--
I must not, if I could; for never was
Such reason to be watchful: yet a few--
Yet a few days and dream-perturbed nights,
And I shall slumber well--but where? --no matter.
Adieu, my Angiolina.

_Ang_. Let me be
An instant--yet an instant your companion!
I cannot bear to leave you thus.

_Doge_. Come then,
My gentle child--forgive me: thou wert made 500
For better fortunes than to share in mine,
Now darkling in their close toward the deep vale
Where Death sits robed in his all-sweeping shadow. [dh]
When I am gone--it may be sooner than
Even these years warrant, for there is that stirring
Within--above--around, that in this city
Will make the cemeteries populous
As e'er they were by pestilence or war,--
When I _am_ nothing, let that which I _was_
Be still sometimes a name on thy sweet lips, 510
A shadow in thy fancy, of a thing
Which would not have thee mourn it, but remember.
Let us begone, my child--the time is pressing.


SCENE II. --_A retired spot near the Arsenal_.

ISRAEL BERTUCCIO _and_ PHILIP CALENDARO. [409]

_Cal_. How sped you, Israel, in your late complaint?

_I. Ber_. Why, well.

_Cal_. Is't possible! will he be punished?

_I. Ber_. Yes.

_Cal_. With what? a mulct or an arrest?

_I. Ber_. With death!

_Cal_. Now you rave, or must intend revenge,
Such as I counselled you, with your own hand.

_I. Ber_. Yes; and for one sole draught of hate, forego
The great redress we meditate for Venice,
And change a life of hope for one of exile;
Leaving one scorpion crushed, and thousands stinging
My friends, my family, my countrymen! 10
No, Calendaro; these same drops of blood,
Shed shamefully, shall have the whole of his
For their requital----But not only his;
We will not strike for private wrongs alone:
Such are for selfish passions and rash men,
But are unworthy a Tyrannicide.

_Cal_. You have more patience than I care to boast.
Had I been present when you bore this insult,
I must have slain him, or expired myself
In the vain effort to repress my wrath. 20

_I. Ber_. Thank Heaven you were not--all had else been marred:
As 'tis, our cause looks prosperous still.

_Cal_. You saw
The Doge--what answer gave he?

_I. Ber_. That there was
No punishment for such as Barbaro.

_Cal_. I told you so before, and that 'twas idle
To think of justice from such hands.

_I. Ber_. At least,
It lulled suspicion, showing confidence.
Had I been silent, not a Sbirro[410] but
Had kept me in his eye, as meditating
A silent, solitary, deep revenge. 30

_Cal_. But wherefore not address you to the Council?
The Doge is a mere puppet, who can scarce
Obtain right for himself. Why speak to _him_?

_I. Ber_. You shall know that hereafter.

_Cal_. Why not now?

_I. Ber_. Be patient but till midnight. Get your musters,
And bid our friends prepare their companies:
Set all in readiness to strike the blow,
Perhaps in a few hours: we have long waited
For a fit time--that hour is on the dial,
It may be, of to-morrow's sun: delay 40
Beyond may breed us double danger. See
That all be punctual at our place of meeting,
And armed, excepting those of the Sixteen,[411]
Who will remain among the troops to wait
The signal.

_Cal_. These brave words have breathed new life
Into my veins; I am sick of these protracted
And hesitating councils: day on day
Crawled on, and added but another link
To our long fetters, and some fresher wrong
Inflicted on our brethren or ourselves, 50
Helping to swell our tyrants' bloated strength.
Let us but deal upon them, and I care not
For the result, which must be Death or Freedom!
I'm weary to the heart of finding neither.

_I. Ber_. We will be free in Life or Death! the grave
Is chainless. Have you all the musters ready?
And are the sixteen companies completed
To sixty?

_Cal_. All save two, in which there are
Twenty-five wanting to make up the number.

_I. Ber_. No matter; we can do without. Whose are they? 60

_Cal_. Bertram's[412] and old Soranzo's, both of whom
Appear less forward in the cause than we are.

_I. Ber_. Your fiery nature makes you deem all those
Who are not restless cold; but there exists
Oft in concentred spirits not less daring
Than in more loud avengers. Do not doubt them.

_Cat_. I do not doubt the elder; but in Bertram
There is a hesitating softness, fatal
To enterprise like ours: I've seen that man
Weep like an infant o'er the misery 70
Of others, heedless of his own, though greater;
And in a recent quarrel I beheld him
Turn sick at sight of blood, although a villain's.

_I. Ber_. The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes,
And feel for what their duty bids them do.
I have known Bertram long; there doth not breathe
A soul more full of honour.

_Cal_. It may be so:
I apprehend less treachery than weakness;
Yet as he has no mistress, and no wife
To work upon his milkiness of spirit, 80
He may go through the ordeal; it is well
He is an orphan, friendless save in us:
A woman or a child had made him less
Than either in resolve.

_I. Ber_. Such ties are not
For those who are called to the high destinies
Which purify corrupted commonwealths;
We must forget all feelings save the _one_,
We must resign all passions save our purpose,
We must behold no object save our country,
And only look on Death as beautiful, 90
So that the sacrifice ascend to Heaven,
And draw down Freedom on her evermore.

_Cal_. But if we fail----[413]

_I. Ber_. They never fail who die
In a great cause: the block may soak their gore:[di]
Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls--
But still their Spirit walks abroad. Though years
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,
They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overpower all others, and conduct 100
The world at last to Freedom. What were we,
If Brutus had not lived? He died in giving[dj]
Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson--
A name which is a virtue, and a Soul
Which multiplies itself throughout all time,
When wicked men wax mighty, and a state
Turns servile. He and his high friend were styled
"The last of Romans! "[414] Let us be the first
Of true Venetians, sprung from Roman sires.

_Cal_. Our fathers did not fly from Attila[415] 110
Into these isles, where palaces have sprung
On banks redeemed from the rude ocean's ooze,
To own a thousand despots in his place.
Better bow down before the Hun, and call
A Tartar lord, than these swoln silkworms[416] masters!
The first at least was man, and used his sword
As sceptre: these unmanly creeping things
Command our swords, and rule us with a word
As with a spell.

_I. Ber_. It shall be broken soon.
You say that all things are in readiness; 120
To-day I have not been the usual round,
And why thou knowest; but thy vigilance
Will better have supplied my care: these orders
In recent council to redouble now
Our efforts to repair the galleys, have
Lent a fair colour to the introduction
Of many of our cause into the arsenal,
As new artificers for their equipment,
Or fresh recruits obtained in haste to man
The hoped-for fleet. --Are all supplied with arms? 130

_Cal_. All who were deemed trust-worthy: there are some
Whom it were well to keep in ignorance
Till it be time to strike, and then supply them;
When in the heat and hurry of the hour
They have no opportunity to pause,
But needs must on with those who will surround them.

_I. Ber_. You have said well. Have you remarked all such?

_Cal_. I've noted most; and caused the other chiefs
To use like caution in their companies.
As far as I have seen, we are enough 140
To make the enterprise secure, if 'tis
Commenced to-morrow; but, till 'tis begun,
Each hour is pregnant with a thousand perils.

_I. Ber_. Let the Sixteen meet at the wonted hour,
Except Soranzo, Nicoletto Blondo,
And Marco Giuda, who will keep their watch
Within the arsenal, and hold all ready,
Expectant of the signal we will fix on.

_Cal_. We will not fail.

_I. Ber_. Let all the rest be there;
I have a stranger to present to them. 150

_Cal_. A stranger! doth he know the secret?

_I. Ber_. Yes.

_Cal_. And have you dared to peril your friends' lives
On a rash confidence in one we know not?

_I. Ber_. I have risked no man's life except my own--
Of that be certain: he is one who may
Make our assurance doubly sure, according[417]
His aid; and if reluctant, he no less
Is in our power: he comes alone with me,
And cannot 'scape us; but he will not swerve.

_Cal_. I cannot judge of this until I know him: 160
Is he one of our order?

_I. Ber_. Aye, in spirit,
Although a child of Greatness; he is one
Who would become a throne, or overthrow one--
One who has done great deeds, and seen great changes;
No tyrant, though bred up to tyranny;
Valiant in war, and sage in council; noble
In nature, although haughty; quick, yet wary:
Yet for all this, so full of certain passions,
That if once stirred and baffled, as he has been
Upon the tenderest points, there is no Fury 170
In Grecian story like to that which wrings
His vitals with her burning hands, till he
Grows capable of all things for revenge;
And add too, that his mind is liberal,
He sees and feels the people are oppressed,
And shares their sufferings. Take him all in all,
We have need of such, and such have need of us.

_Cal_. And what part would you have him take with us?

_I. Ber_. It may be, that of Chief.

_Cal_. What! and resign
Your own command as leader?

_I. Ber_. Even so. 180
My object is to make your cause end well,
And not to push myself to power. Experience,
Some skill, and your own choice, had marked me out
To act in trust as your commander, till
Some worthier should appear: if I have found such
As you yourselves shall own more worthy, think you
That I would hesitate from selfishness,
And, covetous of brief authority,
Stake our deep interest on my single thoughts,
Rather than yield to one above me in 190
All leading qualities? No, Calendaro,
Know your friend better; but you all shall judge.
Away! and let us meet at the fixed hour.
Be vigilant, and all will yet go well.

_Cal_. Worthy Bertuccio, I have known you ever
Trusty and brave, with head and heart to plan
What I have still been prompt to execute.
For my own part, I seek no other Chief;
What the rest will decide, I know not, but
I am with YOU, as I have ever been, 200
In all our undertakings. Now farewell,
Until the hour of midnight sees us meet. [_Exeunt_.




ACT III.


SCENE I. --_Scene, the Space between the Canal and the
Church of San Giovanni e San Paolo. An equestrian Statue
before it. --A Gondola lies in the Canal at some distance. _

_Enter the_ DOGE _alone, disguised_.

_Doge_ (_solus_). I am before the hour, the hour whose voice,
Pealing into the arch of night, might strike
These palaces with ominous tottering,
And rock their marbles to the corner-stone,
Waking the sleepers from some hideous dream
Of indistinct but awful augury
Of that which will befall them. Yes, proud city!
Thou must be cleansed of the black blood which makes thee
A lazar-house of tyranny: the task
Is forced upon me, I have sought it not; 10
And therefore was I punished, seeing this
Patrician pestilence spread on and on,
Until at length it smote me in my slumbers,
And I am tainted, and must wash away
The plague spots in the healing wave. Tall fane!
Where sleep my fathers, whose dim statues shadow
The floor which doth divide us from the dead,
Where all the pregnant hearts of our bold blood,
Mouldered into a mite of ashes, hold
In one shrunk heap what once made many heroes, 20
When what is now a handful shook the earth--
Fane of the tutelar saints who guard our house!
Vault where two Doges rest[418]--my sires!