And her trust in his love was a woman’s faith—
Perfect, and fearing no change but death.
But the fields are won from the Othman host,
In the land that quell’d the Persian’s boast,
And a thousand hearts in Venice burn
For the day of triumph and return!
The day is come! the flashing deep
Foams where the galleys of victory sweep;
And the sceptred city of the wave
With her festal splendour greets the brave;