And, as he walked, with modest dignity Folding his scarlet mantle. At the gate They join; and slowly up the bannered aisle Led by the choir, with due solemnity
Range round the altar. In his vestments there
The Patriarch stands; and, while the anthem flows, Who can look on unmoved the dream of years
Just now fulfilling! Here a mother weeps,
Rejoicing in her daughter. There a son Blesses the day that is to make her his; While she shines forth through all her ornament, Her beauty heightened by her hopes and fears.
At length the rite is ending. All fall down, All of all ranks; and, stretching out his hands, Apostle-like, the holy man proceeds
To give the blessing -- not a stir, a breath; When, hark! a din of voices from without, And shrieks and groans and outcries as in battle! And, lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent, And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep, Savage, uncouth, led on by BARBERIGO And his six brothers in their coats of steel, Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like A while they gaze on the fallen multitude, Each with his sabre up, in act to strike; Then, as at once recovering from the spell, Rush forward to the altar, and as soon Are gone again — amid no clash of arms Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.
Where are they now?-ploughing the distant waves,
Their sails outspread and given to the wind,
They on their decks triumphant. On they speed,
Steering for ISTRIA; their accursed barks
(Well are they known 100 the galliot and the galley) Freighted, alas! with all that life endears! The richest argosies were poor to them!
Now hadst thou seen along that crowded shore The matrons running wild, their festal dress A strange and moving contrast to their grief; And through the city, wander where thou wouldst, The men half armed and arming every where As roused from slumber by the stirring trump; One with a shield, one with a casque and spear; One with an axe severing in two the chain Of some old pinnace. Not a raft, a plank, But on that day was drifting. In an hour Half VENICE was afloat. But long before, Frantic with grief and scorning all control, The youths were gone in a light brigantine, Lying at anchor near the arsenal ;
Each having sworn, and by the holy rood, To slay or to be slain.
The watchman gives the signal. In the east
A ship is seen, and making for the port;
And now she turns the point,
Over the waters like a sea-bird flying!
Ha! 't is the same, 't is theirs! from stern to prow
Green with victorious wreaths, she comes to bring
Coasting, with narrow search,
FRIULI like a tiger in his spring,
They had surprised the corsairs where they lay 101
Sharing the spoil in blind security
And casting lots—had slain them, one and all, All to the last, and flung them far and wide Into the sea, their proper element;
Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long Had hushed the babes of VENICE, and who yet, Breathing a little, in his look retained
The fierceness of his soul.10 102
Lost and recovered; and what now remained
But to give thanks? Twelve breast-plates and twe
By the young victors to their patron-saint Vowed in the field, inestimable gifts
Flaming with gems and gold, were in due time
Laid at his feet; and ever to preserve
The memory of a day so full of change, From joy to grief, from grief to joy again, Through many an age, as oft as it came round, 'T was held religiously. The Doge resigned His crimson for pure ermine, visiting At earliest dawn St. Mary's silver shrine; And through the city, in a stately barge Of gold, were borne with songs and symphonies Twelve ladies young and noble.104 Clad they were In bridal white with bridal ornaments,
Each in her glittering veil; and on the deck, As on a burnished throne, they glided by; No window or balcóny but adorned With hangings of rich texture, not a roof
But covered with beholders, and the air
Vocal with joy. Onward they went, their oars Moving in concert with the harmony,
Through the Rialto 105 to the Ducal Palace, And at a banquet, served with honor there, Sat representing, in the eyes of all,
Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears, Their lovely ancestors, the Brides of VENICE.
LET us lift up the curtain, and observe
What passes in that chamber.
And now a groan is heard. Then all is still.
Twenty are sitting as in judgment there;
Men who have served their country and grown gray
In governments and distant embassies,
Men eminent alike in war and peace ;
Such as in effigy shall long adorn
The walls of VENICE - to show what she was! Their garb is black, and black the arras is, And sad the general aspect. Yet their looks Are calm, are cheerful; nothing there like grief, Nothing or harsh or cruel. Still that noise, That low and dismal moaning.
A little to the left, sits one in crimson,
A venerable man, fourscore and five.
Cold drops of sweat stand on his furrowed brow.
His hands are clenched; his eyes half-shut and glazed;
His shrunk and withered limbs rigid as marble.
'Tis FOSCARI, the Doge. A young man, lying at his In torture. 'Tis his son.
And there is one, feet, stretched out "T is GIACOMO,
His only joy (and has he lived for this?) Accused of murder. Yesternight the proofs, If proofs they be, were in the Lion's mouth Dropt by some hand unseen; and he, himself, Must sit and look on a beloved son
To save, while yet he could, a falling house, And turn the hearts of his fell adversaries, Those who had now, like hell-hounds in full cry, Chased down his last of four, twice did he ask To lay aside the crown, and they refused, An oath exacting, never more to ask; And there he sits, a spectacle of woe, Condemned in bitter mockery to wear The bauble he had sighed for.
The screw is turned; and, as it turns, the son Looks up, and, in a faint and broken tone,
Murmurs "My father!" The old man shrinks back,
And in his mantle muffles up his face.
"Art thou not guilty?" says a voice, that once Would greet the sufferer long before they met, "Art thou not guilty?". "No! Indeed I am not!" But all is unavailing. In that court
Groans are confessions; patience, fortitude, The work of magic; and, released, revived, For condemnation, from his father's lips
He hears the sentence, "Banishment to CANDIA. Death, if he leaves it." And the bark sets sail; And he is gone from all he loves in life! Gone in the dead of night-unseen of any
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