Their sails out-spread and given to the wind, They on their decks triumphant. On they speed, Steering for ISTRIA; their accursed barks

(Well are they known,* 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 controul,
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.

And from the tower

The watchman gives the signal. In the East

A ship is seen, and making for the Port;

Her flag St. Mark's. And now she turns the point, Over the waters like a sea-bird flying!

Ha, 'tis the same, 'tis theirs! from stern to prow Green with victorious wreaths, she comes to bring All that was lost.

* 'Una galera e una galeotta.'-M. SANUTO.

Coasting, with narrow search,

FRIULI-like a tiger in his spring,

They had surprised the Corsairs where they lay *
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.+

Thus were the Brides

Lost and recovered; and what now remained

But to give Thanks? Twelve breast-plates and twelve

crowns,

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,
'Twas 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

* In the lagoons of Caorlo. The creek is still called Il Porto delle Donzelle.

59.

'Paululùm etiam spirans,' &c.-SALLUST. Bell. Catal.

They are described by Evelyn and La Lande, and were to be seen in the Treasury of St. Mark very lately.

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 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 + 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.

Le quali con trionfo si conducessero sopra una piatta pe' canali di Venezia con suoni e canti.'-M. SANUTO.

An English abbreviation. Rialto is the name, not of the bridge, but of the island from which it is called; and the Venetians say Il ponte di Rialto, as we say Westminsterbridge.

In that island is the Exchange; and I have often walked there as on classic ground. In the days of Antonio and Bassanio it was second to none. "I sottoportici," says Sansovino, writing in 1580, 'sono ogni giorno frequentati da i mercatanti Fiorentini, Genovesi, Milanesi, Spagnuoli, Turchi, e d'altre nationi diverse del mondo, i quali vi concorrono in tanta copia, che questa piazza è annoverata fra le prime dell' universo. It was there that the Christian held discourse with the Jew; and Shylock refers to it, when he says,

"Signor Antonio, many a time and oft,

In the Rialto you have rated me-"

'Andiamo a Rialto'-'L'ora di Rialto'-were on every tongue; and continue so to the present day, as we learn from the comedies of Goldoni, and particularly from his Mercanti.

There is a place adjoining, called Rialto Nuovo; and so called, according to Sansovino, "perchè fù fabbricato dopo il vecchio."

T

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 shew 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.

Half withdrawn,

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. And there is one,
A young man, lying at his feet, stretched out

*The Council of Ten and the Giunta, "nel quale," says Sanuto, "fù messer lo doge." The Giunta at the first examination consisted of ten Patricians, at the last of twenty.

This story and the Tragedy of the Two Foscari were published, within a few days of each other, in November 1821.

In torture. 'Tis his son.

'Tis 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
Suffering the Question.

Twice to die in peace,

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.

Once again

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!