All that I sought for in thy midst, and found.
Must these too go? The ogre Progress deems
Such fair and flattering phantasies unsound;
Now other voices speak, and other sights surround.
"The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord,"
Ay, and yet worse, Venetian souls grow rude.
The Gondola lies rotting unrestored,
The Gondolier unhired must lounge and brood,
Or stoop to "stoking" for his daily food,
On board a puffing fiend that by "horse pow'r"