Takes from these limbs their weariness! What were
The breezes of the rugged Alps, to this,
So bland—so wooing? All, in loveliness
The same—the same! The Lagune, brightly clear,
Yet mirrors in its depths the marble domes
That rise above it—lordly towers—where shine
A thousand torches, like so many stars
Gleaming through clouds of silver. From afar,
The surge-like tone of multitudes, the hum
Of glad, familiar voices, and the wild