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A smile, a glance at parting, given and answered,
That turned her blood to gall. That very night
The deed was done. That night, ere yet the Moon
Was up on Monte Calvo, and the wolf

Baying as still he does (oft is he heard,

An hour and more, by the old turret-clock)
They led her forth, the unhappy lost Cristine,
Helping her down in her distress—to die.

66

No blood was spilt; no instrument of death
Lurked--or stood forth, declaring its bad purpose;
Nor was a hair of her unblemished head

Hurt in that hour. Fresh as a flower just blown,
And warm with life, her youthful pulses playing,
She was walled up within the Castle-wall.1
The wall itself was hollowed secretly;

Then closed again, and done to line and rule.
Would'st thou descend ?—Tis in a darksome
vault

Under the Chapel: and there nightly, now,
As in the narrow niche, when smooth and fair,
And as if nothing had been done or thought,
The stone-work rose before her, till the light
Glimmered and went-there, nightly at that hour,
(Thou smil'st, and would it were an idle tale!)
In her white veil and vesture white she stands
Shuddering her eyes uplifted, and her hands
Joined as in prayer; then, like a Blessed Soul
Bursting the tomb, springs forward, and away
Flies o'er the woods and mountains. Issuing
forth,

The hunter meets her in his hunting-track; 2
The shepherd on the heath, starting, exclaims
(For still she bears the name she bore of old)
'Tis the White Lady!'"

1 Murato was a technical word for this punishment.

? An old huntsman of the family met her in the haze of the morning, and never went out again.

She is still known by the name of Madonna Bianca.

VENICE.

HERE is a glorious City in the Sea. The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets,

Ebbing and flowing; and the salt seaweed

Clings to the marble of her palaces.

No track of men, no footsteps to and fro,
Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the Sea,
Invisible; and from the land we went,
As to a floating City-steering in,

And gliding up her streets as in a dream,
So smoothly, silently-by many a dome,
Mosque-like, and many a stately portico,
The statues ranged along an azure sky;
By many a pile in more than Eastern pride,
Of old the residence of merchant-kings;

The fronts of some, though Time had shattered them,

Still glowing with the richest hues of art,

As though the wealth within them had run o'er.

Thither I came, and in a wondrous Ark, (That, long before we slipt our cable, rang As with the voices of all living things)

From Padua, where the stars are, night by night, Watched from the top of an old dungeon-tower, Whence blood ran once, the tower of Ezzelin-1 Not as he watched them, when he read his fate

Now an Observatory. On the wall there is a long inscription : "Piis carcerem adspergite lacrymis," &c.

Ezzelino is seen by Dante in the river of blood.

And shuddered.

But of him I thought not then,

Him or his horoscope; far, far from me

The forms of Guilt and Fear; tho' some were there,
Sitting among us round the cabin-board,

Some who, like him, had cried, "Spill blood

enough!"

And could shake long at shadows.

played

They had
Their parts at Padua, and were floating home,
Careless and full of mirth; to-morrow a day
Not in their Calendar.2-Who in a strain
To make the hearer fold his arms and sigh,
Sings," Caro, Caro !"—"Tis the Prima Donna,
And to her monkey, smiling in his face,
Who, as transported, cries, "Brava! Ancora!"
'Tis a grave personage, an old macaw,

Perched on her shoulder.-But who leaps ashore,
And with a shout urges the lagging mules ;3
Then climbs a tree that overhangs the stream,
And like an acorn, drops on deck again?
'Tis he who speaks not, stirs not, but we laugh;
That child of fun and frolic, Arlecchino.
And mark their Poet-with what emphasis
He prompts the young Soubrette, conning her
part!

Her tongue plays truant, and he raps his box,
And prompts again; for ever looking round
As if in search of subjects for his wit,

1 Bonatti was the great astrologer of that day; and all the little Princes of Italy contended for him. It was from the top of the tower of Forli that he gave his signals to Guido Novello. At the first touch of a bell the Count put on his armour; at the second he mounted his horse, and at the third marched out to battle. His victories were ascribed to Bonatti; and not perhaps without reason. How many triumphs were due to the soothsayers of old Rome!

2 Douze personnes, tant acteurs qu'actrices, un souffleur, un machiniste, un garde du magasin, des enfans de tout âge, des chiens, des chats, des singes, des perroquets; c'étoit l'arche de Noé. -Ma prédilection pour les soubrettes m'arrêta sur Madame Baccherini."GOLDONI.

3 The passage-boats are drawn up and down the Brents.

His satire; and as often whispering

Things, though unheard, not unimaginable.

Had I thy pencil, Crabbe (when thou hast done,
Late may it be... it will, like Prospero's staff,
Be buried fifty fathoms in the earth)

I would portray the Italian-Now I cannot.
Subtle, discerning, eloquent, the slave
Of Love, of Hate, for ever in extremes;
Gentle when unprovoked, easily won,

But quick in quarrel-through a thousand shades
His spirit flits, cameleon-like, and mocks
The eye of the observer.

Gliding on,

At length we leave the river for the sea.
At length a voice aloft proclaims "Venezia!"
And, as called forth, She comes.

A few in fear,
Flying away from him whose boast it was,1
That the grass grew not where his horse had trod,
Gave birth to Venice. Like the water-fowl,

They built their nests among the ocean-waves; And where the sands were shifting, as the wind Blew from the north or south-where they that

came,

Had to make sure the ground they stood upon,
Rose, like an exhalation from the deep,
A vast Metropolis,2 with glistering spires,
With theatres, basilicas adorned;

A scene of light and glory, a dominion,
That has endured the longest among men.

1 Attila.

"I love," says a traveller, "to contemplate, as I float along, that multitude of palaces and churches, which are congregated and pressed as on a vast raft."-And who can forget his walk through the Mercerta, where the nightingales give you their melody from shop to shop, so that, shutting your eyes, you would think yourself in some forest glade, when indeed you are all the while in the middle of the sea? Who can forget his prospect from the great tower, which once,

And whence the talisman, whereby she rose,
Towering? 'Twas found there in the barren sea.
Want led to Enterprise; and, far or near,
Who met not the Venetian ?-now among
The Egean Isles, steering from port to port,
Landing and bartering; now, no stranger there,
In Cairo, or without the eastern gate,

Ere yet the Cafila2 came, listening to hear
Its bells approaching from the Red-Sea coast;
Then on the Euxine, and that smaller Sea
Of Azoph, in close converse with the Russ,
And Tartar; on his lowly deck receiving
Pearls from the Persian Gulf, gems from Golconde;
Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of love,
From Georgia, from Circassia. Wandering round,
When in the rich bazaar he saw, displayed,

Treasures from climes unknown, he asked and learnt,

And, travelling slowly upward, drew ere long
From the well-head, supplying all below;
Making the Imperial City of the East,

Herself, his tributary.-If we turn

To those black forests, where, through many an

age,

Night without day, no axe the silence broke,
Or seldom, save where Rhine or Danube rolled;
Where o'er the narrow glen a castle hangs,
And, like the wolf that hungered at his door,
The baron lived by rapine-there we meet,

when gilt, and when the sun struck upon it, was to be descried by ships afar off; or his visit to St. Mark's church, where you see no thing, tread on nothing, but what is precious; the floor all agate, jasper; the roof mosaic; the aisle hung with the banners of the subject cities; the front and its five domes affecting you as the work of some unknown people? Yet all this may presently pass away; the waters may close over it; and they, that come, row about in vain to determine exactly where it stood.

1 "Il fallut subsister; ils tirèrent leur subsistance de tout Pamvers."- MONTESQUIEU.

2 A Caravan.