Chapter 76 THE RACE WITH DEATH

O Venice! Venice! when thy marble walls

Are level with the waters, there shall be

A cry of nations o'er thy sunken halls,

A loud lament along the sweeping sea!

If I, a northern wanderer, weep for thee,

What should thy sons do?-anything but weep:

And yet they only murmur in their sleep.

In contrast with their fathers-as the slim