THE VOW OF THE PEACOCK.
21
And from the mast a banner's fold
Flung forth its purple and its gold.
Now joy in Venice!—she has brought
Glad tidings of a battle fought:
The last of a victorious war,
She brings them triumph from afar.
Yet, further on, the dim and dark,
On the horizon hangs a bark;
A sad, small speck: o'er which a cloud
Hangs heavy, like a funeral shroud;
While others marked the ship that came
From fields of battle and of fame;
And told, with loud acclaim, the while,
The conquest proud of Candia's isle.
The poet lingered last to mark
The progress of that lonely bark.
