And, when thou hast surveyed the sea, the land,
Visit the narrow cells that cluster there,
As in a place of tombs. There burning suns,
Day after day, beat unrelentingly;
Turning all things to dust, and scorching up
The brain, till Reason fled, and the wild yell
And wilder laugh burst out on every side,
Answering each other as in mockery!"
Few Houses of the size were better filled;
Though many came and left it in an hour.
'Most nights,' so said the good old Nicolo,
(For three-and-thirty years his uncle kept
The water-gate below, but seldom spoke,
Though much was on his mind,) 'most nights arrived
The prison-boat, that boat with many oars,
And bore away as to the Lower World,
Disburdening in the Cànal ORFANO,
That drowning-place, where never net was thrown,
Summer or Winter, death the penalty;
And where a secret, once deposited,
Lay till the waters should give up their dead.'
Yet what so gay as VENICE? Every gale
Breathed music! and who flocked not, while she reigned,
To celebrate her Nuptials with the Sea;
To wear the mask, and mingle in the crowd
With Greek, Armenian, Persian-night and day
(There, and there only, did the hour stand still)
Pursuing through her thousand labyrinths
The Enchantress Pleasure; realizing dreams
The earliest, happiest-for a tale to catch
Credulous ears, and hold young hearts in chains,
Had only to begin, 'There lived in VENICE'
'Who were the Six we supped with Yesternight?'* 'Kings, one and all! Thou couldst not but remark The style and manner of the Six that served them.' 'Who answered me just now? Who, when I said, ""Tis nine," turned round and said so solemnly, "Signor, he died at nine!"'Twas the Armenian ; The mask that follows thee, go where thou wilt.' 'But who moves there, alone among them all?' "The Cypriot. Ministers from distant Courts Beset his doors, long ere his rising-hour; His the Great Secret! Not the golden house Of Nero, nor those fabled in the East,
Rich though they were, so wondrous rich as his!
Two dogs, coal-black, in collars of pure gold,
Walk in his footsteps-Who but his familiars?
They walk, and cast no shadow in the sun!
'And mark Him speaking. They, that listen, stand
As if his tongue dropped honey; yet his glance
None can endure! He looks nor young nor old;
And at a tourney, where I sat and saw,
A very child (full threescore years are gone)
Borne on my father's shoulder through the crowd,
He looked not otherwise. Where'er he stops,
Tho' short the sojourn, on his chamber-wall,
'Mid many a treasure gleaned from many a clime,
His portrait hangs-but none must notice it;
For TITIAN glows in every lineament,
(Where is it not inscribed, The work is his!)
And TITIAN died two hundred years ago.'
-Such their discourse. Assembling in St. Mark's, All nations met as on enchanted ground!
What tho' a strange mysterious Power was there, Moving throughout, subtle, invisible,
And universal as the air they breathed;
A Power that never slumbered, nor forgave,
All eye, all ear, no where and every where,
Entering the closet and the sanctuary,
No place of refuge for the Doge himself;
Most present when least thought of-nothing dropt
In secret, when the heart was on the lips,
Nothing in feverish sleep, but instantly
Observed and judged-a Power, that if but named
In casual converse, be it where it might,
The speaker lowered but once his eyes, his voice,
And pointed upward as to God in Heaven――
What tho' that Power was there, he who lived thus,
Pursuing Pleasure, lived as if it were not.
But let him in the midnight air indulge
A word, a thought against the laws of VENICE,
And in that hour he vanished from the earth!
Boy, call the Gondola; the sun is set.
It came, and we embarked; but instantly,
As at the waving of a magic wand,
Though she had stept on board so light of foot,
So light of heart, laughing she knew not why,
Sleep overcame her; on my arm she slept.
From time to time I waked her; but the boat.
Rocked her to sleep again. The moon was now
Rising full-orbed, but broken by a cloud.
The wind was hushed, and the sea mirror-like.
A single zephyr, as enamoured, played
With her loose tresses, and drew more and more
Her veil across her bosom.
Contemplating that face so
That rosy mouth, that cheek dimpled with smiles,
That neck but half-concealed, whiter than snow.
'Twas the sweet slumber of her early age.
I looked and looked, and felt a flush of joy
I would express but cannot. Oft I wished
Gently by stealth to drop asleep myself,
And to incline yet lower that sleep might come;
Oft closed my eyes as in forgetfulness.
'Twas all in vain. Love would not let me rest.
But how delightful when at length she waked!
When, her light hair adjusting, and her veil
So rudely scattered, she resumed her place
Beside me; and, as gaily as before,
Sitting unconsciously nearer and nearer,
Poured out her innocent mind!
Sung a Venetian; and his lay of love,*
Dangerous and sweet, charmed VENICE. For myself, (Less fortunate, if Love be Happiness)
No curtain drawn, no pulse beating alarm,
I went along beneath the silent moon;
Thy square, ST. MARK, thy churches, palaces,
Glittering and frost-like, and, as day drew on,
Melting away, an emblem of themselves.
*La Biondina in Gondoletta.
Those Porches passed, thro' which the water-breeze
Plays, though no longer on the noble forms
That moved there, sable-vested-and the Quay,
Silent, grass-grown-adventurer-like I launched
Into the deep, ere long discovering
Isles such as cluster in the Southern seas,
All verdure. Every where, from bush and brake,
The musky odour of the serpents came;
Their slimy track across the woodman's path
Bright in the moonshine; and, as round I went,
Dreaming of GREECE, whither the waves were gliding,
I listened to the venerable pines
Then in close converse, and, if right I guessed,
Delivering many a message to the Winds,
In secret for their kindred on Mount IDA.
Nor when again in VENICE, when again
In that strange place, so stirring and so still,
Where nothing comes to drown the human voice
But music, or the dashing of the tide,
Ceased I to wander. Now a JESSICA
Sung to her lute, her signal as she sat
At her half-opened window. Then, methought,
A serenade broke silence, breathing hope
Thro' walls of stone, and torturing the proud heart
Of some PRIULI. Once, we could not err,
(It was before an old Palladian house,
As between night and day we floated by)
A Gondolier lay singing; and he sung,
As in the time when VENICE was herself,
Of TANCRED and ERMINIA. On our oars
We rested; and the verse was verse divine!
We could not err
- Perhaps he was the last
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