Cervantes Smiled Spain's Chivalry Away.

I Stood In Venice, On The Bridge Of Sighs; A Palace And A Prison On Each Hand; I Saw From Out The Wave Of Her Structure's Rise As From The Stroke Of The Enchanter's Wand: A Thousand Years Their Cloudy Wings Expand Around Me, And A Dying Glory Smiles O'er The Far Times, When Many A Subject Land Look'd To The Winged Lion's Marble Pines, Where Venice Sate In State, Throned On Her Hundred Isles.

I Am Ashes Where Once I Was Fire.

If Ancient Tales Say True, Nor Wrong These Holy Men.

I Can't But Say It Is An Awkward Sight To See One's Native Land Receding Through The Growing Waters; It Unmans One Quite, Especially When Life Is Rather New.

Physicians Mend Or End Us, Secundum Artem; But Although We Sneer - In Health - When Ill We Call Them To Attend Us, Without The Least Propensity To Jeer