Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, But garish signboards glitter in the sun; And up and down the watery alleys pass The snorting steamers. Venice lost and won, Her thirteen hundred years of beauty done, Sinks to an Isle of Dogs. Let her life close! Better be whelmed beneath the waves, and shun Ev'n in destruction's depths her Vandal foes, Than live a thrall to Trade, a scourge to eyes and nose.

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