. The Maple-leaf, or Canadian annual : a literary souvenir for 1849. d lived to heard for a successor peal San Marcos solemn bell. When, years before, his honours Twice would he fain lay down,They bound him by his princely oath To wear for life the crown ;But now, his brow oershadowed By fourscore winters snows,Their eager malice would not wait A spent lifes mournful close. He doffed his ducal ensigns In proud obedient haste,And through the sculptured corridors With staff-propt footsteps paced ;Till, on the Giants Staircase, Which first, in princely pride,He mounted as Venezias Doge, T
. The Maple-leaf, or Canadian annual : a literary souvenir for 1849. d lived to heard for a successor peal San Marcos solemn bell. When, years before, his honours Twice would he fain lay down,They bound him by his princely oath To wear for life the crown ;But now, his brow oershadowed By fourscore winters snows,Their eager malice would not wait A spent lifes mournful close. He doffed his ducal ensigns In proud obedient haste,And through the sculptured corridors With staff-propt footsteps paced ;Till, on the Giants Staircase, Which first, in princely pride,He mounted as Venezias Doge, The old man paused—and died. Thus governed the patricians When Venice ownd their sway,And thus Venetian liberties Became a helpless prey :They sold us to the Teuton, They sold us to the Gaul—Thank God and good San Marco, We ve triumphed over all!, Ho ! gentlemen of Venice ! Ho ! soldiers of St. Mark !You ve driven from your palaces The Austrian cold and dai-k!But better for Venezia The stranger ruled again,Than the old patrician tyranny, The Senate and the THE BANK OF IRELAND. Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts,Despoild, yet perfect! # * * * When the low niRht breeze waves along the in this magic circle raise the dead:Heroes have trod this spot—t is on their dust ye tread. Childb Harold. The Bank of Ireland, say you? Let me look a little closer; the eye of age isdimmer than its memory, and years have passed since last I looked upon the majesticpile. True, true, there it is! Your artist has hardly done justice to his noblesubject, or, perhaps, the pride and prejudice of an old Irishman have stamped onhis heart too fair-drawn a remembrance of (he brave old council-hall of fifty yearssince. Yes, there it is ! — the faultless colonnades of the southern front, with their doubleline of stately columns, and in the remote distance to the right barely enough to recallthe splendid portico of the Peers resting on its Corinthian shafts. I see it all—moretlian yo
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