And thro' the city, in a stately barge

Of gold, were borne with songs and symphonies
Twelve ladies young and noble. 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 balcony 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,
Thro' the Rialto to the Ducal Palace,
And at a banquet, served with honour there,
Sat representing, in the eyes of all,

Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears,
Their lovely ancestors, the Brides of VENICE.

FOSCARI.

LET us lift up the curtain, and observe
What passes in that chamber. Now a sigh,

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 grey
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,