It was St. Mary's Eve ss, and all poured forth

As to some grand solemnity. The fisher

Came from his islet, bringing o'er the waves

His wife and little one; the husbandman

From the Firm Land, along the Po, the Brenta, Crouding the common ferry. All arrived;

And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened,

So great the stir in Venice. Old and young

Thronged her three hundred bridges; the

grave Turk

In his white turban, and the cozening Jew,

In his red hat and thread-bare gaberdine,
Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,
The noblest sons and daughters of the state,
They of Patrician birth, the Flower of Venice,
Whose names are written in the Book of Gold,
Were on that day to solemnize their nuptials.

At noon a distant murmur through the croud, Rising and rolling on, announced their coming; And never from the first was to be seen

Such splendour or such beauty. Two and two, (The richest tapestry unrolled before them)

First came the Brides in all their loveliness;

Each in her veil, and by two bride-maids followed,

Only less lovely, who behind her bore

The precious caskets that within contained

The dowry and the presents. On she moved,
Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand

A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich feathers.

Her veil, transparent as the gossamer,

Fell from beneath a starry diadem ;

hh

And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,

Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;

A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreathe,

Wreathing her gold brocade.

Before the Church,

That venerable Pile on the sea-brink, i

Another train they met, no strangers to them,

Brothers to some and to the rest still dearer ;

Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,

And, as he walked, with modest dignity

Folding his scarlet mantle, his tabarro.

They join, they enter in, and, up the aisle

Led by the full-voiced choir in bright procession,

Range round the altar. In his vestments there

The Patriarch stands; and, while the anthem flows,

Who can look on unmoved mothers in secret

Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters,

Sons in the thought of making them their own;

And they — arrayed in youth and innocence,

Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears.

At length the rite is ending. All fall down In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together; And, stretching out his hands, the holy man

Proceeds to give the general benediction;

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 Barbarigo,

And his six brothers in their coats of steel,
Are standing on the threshold ! Statue-like,
Awhile 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