Thickened upon him. His desire for home
Became a madness; and, resolved to go,
If but to die, in his despair he writes
A letter to the sovereign-prince of MILAN,
(To him whose name, among the greatest now,
Had perished, blotted out at once and rased,
But for the rugged limb of an old oak)
Soliciting his influence with the State,
And drops it to be found.

Would ye know all?

I have transgressed, offended wilfully;
And am prepared to suffer as I ought.
But let me, let me, if but for an hour,
(Ye must consent for all of you are sons,
Most of you husbands, fathers) let me first.
Indulge the natural feelings of a man,
And, ere I die, if such my sentence be,
Press to my heart ('tis all I ask of you)
My wife, my children-and my aged mother-
Say, is she yet alive?' He is condemned
Το go ere set of sun, go whence he came,
A banished man; and for a year to breathe
The vapour of a dungeon. But his prayer
(What could they less?) is granted. In a hall
Open and crowded by the common herd,
'Twas there a Wife and her four sons yet young,
A Mother borne along, life ebbing fast,

And an old Doge, mustering his strength in vain,

Assembled now, sad privilege, to meet

One so long lost, one who for them had braved,
For them had sought-death and yet worse than death;
To meet him, and to part with him for ever!—
Time and their wrongs had changed them all, him most!
Yet when the Wife, the Mother looked again,
'Twas he-'twas he himself-'twas GIACOMO!
And all clung round him, weeping bitterly;

Weeping the more, because they wept in vain.'
Unnerved, and now unsettled in his mind

From long and exquisite pain, he sobs and cries,
Kissing the old Man's cheek, Help me, my Father!
Let me, I pray thee, live once more among ye:

For one whose dying words, The deed was mine!
He is most innocent! 'Twas I who did it!'

Came when he slept in peace. The ship, that sailed

Swift as the winds with his deliverance,

Bore back a lifeless corse.

Generous as brave,

Affection, kindness, the sweet offices

Of duty and love were from his tenderest years

To him as needful as his daily bread;

And to become a by-word in the streets,

Bringing a stain on those who gave him life,
And those, alas, now worse than fatherless-
To be proclaimed a ruffian, a night-stabber,
He on whom none before had breathed reproach—
He lived but to disprove it. That hope lost,
Death followed. Oh, if Justice be in Heaven,
A day must come of ample Retribution!

Then was thy cup, old Man, full to the brim.
But thou wert yet alive; and there was one,
The soul and spring of all that Enmity,
Who would not leave thee; fastening on thy flank,
Hungering and thirsting, still unsatisfied;
One of a name illustrious as thine own!
One of the Ten! one of the Invisible Three!
'Twas LOREDANO. When the whelps were gone,
He would dislodge the Lion from his den;
And, leading on the pack he long had led,
The miserable pack that ever howled
Against fallen Greatness, moved that FOSCARI
Be Doge no longer; urging his great age;
Calling the loneliness of grief neglect
Of duty, sullenness against the laws.

- I am most willing to retire,' said he : 'But I have sworn, and cannot of myself. Do with me as ye please.'- -He was deposed, He, who had reigned so long and gloriously; His ducal bonnet taken from his brow,

M

His robes stript off, his seal and signet-ring
Broken before him. But now nothing moved
The meekness of his soul. All things alike!
Among the six that came with the decree,,
FOSCARI Saw one he knew not, and inquired
His name.
'I am the son of MARCO MEмMO.'
Ah,' he replied,' thy father was my friend.'

And now he goes. It is the hour and past.

I have no business here.'

Avoid the gazing crowd?

-But wilt thou not

That way is private.'

'No! as I entered, so will I retire.'

And, leaning on his staff, he left the House,
His residence for five-and-thirty years,

By the same stairs up which he came in state;
Those where the giants stand, guarding the ascent,
Monstrous, terrific. At the foot he stopt,

And, on his staff still leaning, turned and said,
'By mine own merits did I come. I go,
Driven by the malice of mine Enemies.'
Then to his boat withdrew, poor as he came,
Amid the sighs of them that dared not speak.
This journey was his last. When the bell rang
At dawn, announcing a new Doge to VENICE,
It found him on his knees before the Cross,

Clasping his aged hands in earnest prayer;

And there he died.
It rang his knell.

Ere half its task was done,

But whence the deadly hate

That caused all this-the hate of LOREDANO?
It was a legacy his Father left,

Who, but for FOSCARI, had reigned in Venice,

And, like the venom in the serpent's bag,
Gathered and grew! Nothing but turned to hate!
In vain did FoSCARI Supplicate for peace,
Offering in marriage his fair ISABel.
He changed not, with a dreadful piety
Studying revenge; listening to those alone
Who talked of vengeance; grasping by the hand
Those in their zeal (and none were wanting there)
Who came to tell him of another Wrong,

Done or imagined. When his father died,

They whispered, "Twas by poison!' and the words
Struck him as uttered from his father's grave.

He wrote it on the tomb ('tis there in marble)
And with a brow of care, most merchant-like,
Among the debtors in his leger-book

Entered at full (nor month, nor day forgot)
FRANCESCO FOSCARI-for my Father's death.'
Leaving a blank-to be filled up hereafter.
When FOSCARI's noble heart at length gave way,
He took the volume from the shelf again.
Calmly, and with his pen filled up the blank,
Inscribing, 'He has paid me.'

Ye who sit