C. IV. ST. 4.

But unto us she hath a spell beyond
Her name in story, and her long array

Of mighty shadows, whose dim forms despond
Above the dogeless city's vanish'd sway:

Ours is a trophy which will not decay

With the Rialto; Shylock and the Moor

And Pierre can not be swept or worn away—

The keystones of the arch! though all were o'er,

For us repeopled were the solitary shore.