Brushing the floor with what was once a hat

And through the ranks, from wing to wing, are seen Of ceremony. Gliding on, he comes,

Moving as once they were--instead of rage
Slip-shod, ungarter'd; his long suit of black

Breathing deliberate valour.
Dingy and thread-bare, though renew'd in patclies
Till it has almost ceased to be the old one.

X.
Al length arrived, and with a shrug that pleads

COLL'ALTO. • 'T is my necessity!, he stops and speaks, Screwing a smile into his dinnerless face.

In this neglected mirror (23) (the broad frame

Of massive silver serves to testify « I am a Poet, Signor:-give me leave

That many a noble matron of the house
To bid you welcome. Though you shrink from notice, Bas sate before it) once, alas, was seen
The splendour of your name has gone

before
you; What led to many sorrows.

From that time
And Italy from sea to sea rejoices,

The bat came hither for a sleeping-place; As well indeed she may! But I transgress :

And be, who cursed another in his heart, I too have known the weight of praise, and ought Said, « Be thy dwelling through the day, the night, To spare another.

Shunn'd like Coll'alto. ’T was in that old Castle, Saying so, he laid

Which flanks the cliff with its grey battlements His sonnet, an impromptu, on my table,

Flung here and there, and, like an cagle's nest, And bow'd and left me; in his hollow hand

Hangs in the Trevisan, that thus the Steward, Receiving my small tribute, a zecchino,

Shaking his locks, the few that Time had left him, Unconsciously, as doctors do their fees.

Address 'd me, as we enter'd what was call'd

My Lady's Chamber.. On the walls, the chairs, My omelet, and a flagon of lill-wine,

Much yet remain'd of the rich tapestry; . The very best in Bergamo!, had long

Much of the adventures of Sir Lancelot Fled from all eves; or, like the young

Gil Blas

In the green glades of some enchanted forest. De Santillanc, I had perhaps been seen

The toilet-table was of massive silver, Bartering my bread and salt for empty praise.

Florentine Art, when Florence was renown'd ;

A gay confusion of the elements,
IX.

Dolphins and boys, and shells and fruits and flowers :

And from the ceiling, in his gilded cage,
ITALY

llung a small bird of curious workmanship, Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius ?

That, when his Mistress bade him, would unfold Are those the distant turrets of Verona?

(So said at least the babbling Dame, Tradition) And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque (20) Ilis emerald-wings, and sing and sing again Saw her loved Montague, and now sleeps by bim? The song that pleased her. While I stood and look'd, Such questions hourly do I ask myself ; (21)

A gleam of day yet lingering in the West, And not a finger-post by the road-side

The Steward went on. • To Mantua To Ferrara - but excites

« She had ('t is now long since) Surprise, and doubt. and self-congratulation.

A gentle serving-maid, the fair Cristina,

Fair as a lily, and as spotless too; O Italy, how beautiful thou art!

Nonc so admired, beloved. They had grown up Yet I could weep-for thou art lying, alas!

As play-fellows; and some there were, who said, Low in the dust; and they who come, adınire thee Some who knew much, discoursing of Cristina, As we admire the beautiful in death.

She is not what she secms.' When unrequired, Thine was a dangerous gift, the gift of Beauty.

She would steal forth ; her custom, her deliglit, Would thou hadst less, or wert as once thou wast, To wander through and throngh an ancient grove Inspiring awe in those who now enslave thee!

Self-planted half-way down, losing herself
--- But why despair? Twice hast thou lived already; Like one in love with sadness; and her veil
Twice shone among the nations of the world, (22) And vesture white, seen ever in that place,
As the sun shines among the lesser lights

Ever as surely as the hours came round,
Of heaven , and shalt again. The hour shall come, Among those reverend trees, gave her below
When they who think to bind the ethereal spirit,

The name of The White Lady. But the day
Who, like the cagle cowering o'er bis prey,

Is gone, and I delay you. Watch with quick eye, and strike and strike again

In that chair If but a sinew vibrate, shall confess

The Countess, as it might be now, was sitting, Their wisdom folly. Even now the flame

ller gentle serving-maid, the fair Cristina, Bursts forth where once it burnt so gloriously,

Combing her golden hair; and, through this door And, dying, left a splendour like the day,

The Count, her lord, was hastening, call’d away That like the day diffused itself, and still

By leiters of great urgency to Venice; Blesses the earth-the light of genius, virtue,

When in the glass she saw, as she believed, Greatness in thought and act, contempt of death,

('T was an illusion of the Evil SpiritGod-like example. Echoes that have slept

Some say he came and cross'd it at the instant) Since Athens, Lacedemon, were themselves,

|A smile, a glance at parting, given and answer'd, Since men invoked « By Those in Marathon!»

| That turn'd her blood to gall. That very night Awake along the Fycan; and the dead,

The deed was done. That night, cre vet the Moon They of that sacred shore, have heard the call,

Was np op Monte Calvo, and the wolf

Baying as still he does (oft do I hear him,

A vagrant crew, and careless of to-morrow, (28) An hour and more by the old turret-clock)

Careless and full of mirth. Who, in that

quaver, They led her forth, the unhappy lost Cristina,

Sings « Caro, Caro?:—'T is the Prima Donna, Helping her down in her distress-to die.

And to her monkey, smiling in his face.

Who, as transported, cries, << Brava! Ancora ?» • No blood was spilt; no instrument of death "T is a grave personage, an old macaw, Lurked - or stood forth, declaring its bad purpose ; Perch'd on her shoulder. But mark him who leaps Nor was a hair of her unblemish'd head

Ashore, and with a shout urges along Hurt in that hour. Fresh as a flower ungather'd, The lagging mules; (29) then runs and climbs a tree And warm with life, her youthful pulses playing,

That with its branches overhangs the stream, She was wall’d up within the Castle-wall. (24)

And, like an acorn, drops on deck again. The wall itself was hollow'd to receive her;

'T is he who speaks not, stirs not, but we laugh ; Then closed again, and done to line and rule.

That child of fun and frolic, Arlecchino. (30) Would you descend and see il ?- 'T is far down; And mark their Poct-with what emphasis And many a stair is gone. 'T is in a vault

He prompts the young Soubrette, copping her part ! Under the Chapel: and there nightly now,

ller tongue plays truant, and he raps his box, As in the narrow niche, when smooth and fair,

And

prompts again; for ever looking round And as though nothing had been done or thought of, As if in search of subjects for his wit, The stone-work rose before her, till the light

His satire; and as often whispering Glimmer'd and went-there, nightly, at that hour Things, though unheard, not unimaginable. (You smile, and would it were an idle tale! Would we could say so !) at that hour she stands Had I thy pencil, Crabbe (when thou hast done, Shuddering-her eyes uplifted, and her hands

Late

may it be-it will, like Prospero's staff, Join'd as in prayer; then, like a Blessed Soul

Be buried fifty fathoms in the earth),
Bursting the tomb, springs forward, and away

I would portray the Italian-Now I cannot.
Flies o'er the woods, the mountains. Issuing forth, (25) Subtle, discerning, eloquent, the slave
The hunter meets her in his hunting track;

Of Love, of Hate, for ever in extremes;
The shepherd on the heath, starting, exclaims

Gentle when unprovoked, easily won, (For still she bears the name she bore of old)

But quick in quarrel-through a thousand shades "'T is the White Lady'!,

llis spirit flits, cameleon-like; and mocks
The
eye

of the observer.
XI.

Gliding on,

At length we leave the river for the sea.
VENICE.

At length a voice aloft proclaims « Venezia !»
There is a glorious City in the Sea.

And, as callid forth, it comes. The Sea is in the broad, the narrow streets,

A few in fear, Ebbing and flowing; and the salt sea-weed

Flying away from him whose boast it was, Clings to the marble of her palaces.

That the

grass grew not where his horse had trod, No track of men, no footsteps to and fro,

Gave birth to Venice. Like the water-fowl, Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the Sca,

They built their nests among the ocean-waves ; Invisible; and from the land we went,

And, where the sands were shifting, as the wind As to a floating City--steering in,

Blew from the north, the south; where they that came, And gliding up her streets as in a dream,

Vad to make sure the ground they stood upon, So smoothily, silently-by many a dome

Rose, like an exhalation, from the deep, Mosque-like, and many a stately portico,

A vast Metropolis, (31) with glittering spires,
The statues ranged along an azure sky;

With theatres, basilicas adorn'd;
By many a pile in more than Eastern splendour, A scene of light and glory, a dominion,
Of old the residence of merchant-kings;

That has endured the longest among men.
The fronts of some, though Time had shatter'd them,
Still glowing with the richest hues of art, (26)

And whence the talisman, by which she rose, As though the wealth within them had run o'er. Towering ? 'T was found there in the barren sea.

Want led to Enterprise; and, far or near, Thither I came, and in a wondrous Ark,

Who met not the Venetian ?-now in Cairo; (That, long before we slipt our cable, rang

Ere the Califa came, (32) listening to hear As with the voices of all living things)

Its bells approaching from the Red-Sea coast;
From Padua, where the stars are, night by night, Now on the Euxine, on the Sea of Azoph,
Watch'd from the top of an old dung n-tower,

In converse with the Persian, with the Russ,
Whence blood ran once, the tower of Ezzelin- (27) The Tartar; on his lowly deck receiving
Not as he watch'd them, when he read his fate

Pearls from the gulph of Ormus, gems from Bagdad; And shudder'd. But of him I thought not then, Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of love, llim or his horoscope; far, far from me

From Georgia, from Circassia. Wandering round, The forms of Guilt and Fear; though some were there,

When in the rich bazaar he saw, display'd,
Sitting among us round the cabin-board,

Treasures from unknown climes, away he went,
Some who, like him, had cried, - Spill blood enough!» And, travelling slowly upward, drew cre-long
And could shake long at shadows. They liad play'd
Their parts at Padua, and were now returning;

I Altila.

yet

The monk, the nun, the holy legate mask'd !
XIII.

To-morrow came the scaffold and the heads-man;

And he died there by torch-light, bound and gage'd, ST MARK'S PLACE.

Whose name and crime they knew not. Underneath

Where the Archangel, turning with the wind,
Over how many tracts, vast, measureless,

Blesses the City from the topmost-tower,
Nothing from day to day, from year to year,

His arms extended-there continually
Passes, save now and then a cloud, a meteor,

Two phantom-shapes were sitting, side by side,
A famish'd eagle ranging for his prey;

Or up, and, as in sport, chasing each other;
While on this sot of earth, the work of man,

Horror and Mirth. Both vanish'd in one hour!
How much has been transacted! Emperors, Popes, But Ocean only, when again he claims
Warriors, from far and wide, laden with spoil, His ancient rule, shall wash away their footsteps.
Landing, have here perform'd their several parts,
Then left the stage to others. Not a stone

Enter the Palace by the marble stairs!
In the broad pavement, but to him who has

Down which the grizzly head of old Faliero
An eye, an ear for the Inanimate World,

Rolld from the block. (40) Pass onward through the
Tells of Past Ages.

Chamber,
In that temple-porch

Where, among all drawn in their ducal robes,
(The brass is gone, the porphyry remains), (35)

But one is wanting-where thrown off in heat,
Did Barbarossa fling his mantle off,

A short inscription on the Doge's chair
And, kneeling, on his neck receive the foot

Led to another on the wall yet shorter; (41)
Of the proud Pontiff (36)—thus at last consoled And thou wilt track them-wilt from halls of state,
For flight, disguise, and many an aguish shake, Where kings have feasted, and the festal song
On his stone-pillow. In that temple-porch,

Rung through the fretted roof, cedar and gold,
Old as he was, so near his hundredth year,

Step into darkness; and be told, « 'T was here,
And blind-his eyes put out-did Dandolo

Trusting, deceived, assembled but to die,
Stand forth, displaying on his ducal crown

To take a long embrace and part again,
The cross just then assumed at the high altar.

Carrara and his valiant sons were strangled;
There did he stand, erect, invincible,

He first,—then they, whose only crime had been
Though wan his cheeks, and wet with many tears, Struggling to save their Father.-Through that door,
For in his prayers he had been weeping much;

So soon to cry, smiting his brow, «l'm lost!»
And now the pilgrims and the people wept

Was shown, and with all courtesy, all honour,
With admiration, saying in their hearts,

The great and noble captain, Carmagnola.— (42) · Surely those aged limbs have need of rest !.

That deep descent (thou canst not yet discern
-There did he stand, with his old armour on, Aught as it is) leads to the dripping vaults
Ere, gonfalon in hand, that stream'd aloft,

Under the flood, where light and warmth came never!
As conscious of its glorious destiny,

Leads to a cover'd Bridge, the Bridge of Sighs ;
So soon to float o'er mosque and minaret,

And to that fatal closet at the foot,
He sailed away, five hundred gallant ships,

Lurking for prey, which, when a victim enter'd,
Their lofty sides hung with emblazoned shields, Grew less and less, contracting to a span;
Following his track to Glory. He returned not ; An iron-door, urged onward by a screw,
But of his trophies four arrived ere-long,

Forcing out life.-But let us to the roof,
Snatch'd from destruction--the four steeds divine,

And, when thou hast survey'd the sea, the land,
That strike the ground, resounding with their feet, (37) Visit the narrow cells that cluster there,
And from their nostrils snort ethereal flame

As in a place of tombs. They had their tenants,
Over that very portal—in the place

And each supplied with sufferings of his own.
Where in an after-time Petrarch was seen

There burning suns beat unrelentingly,
Sitting beside the Doge, on his right hand,

Turning all things to dust, and scorching up
Amid the ladies of the court of Venice,

The brain, till Reason fled, and the wild yell
Their beauty shaded from the setting sun

And wilder laugh burst out on every side,
By many colour'd hangings ; while, beneath,

Answering each other as in mockery!
Knights of all nations, some from merry England, (38) |--Few Houses of the size were better fill’d;
Their lances in the rest, charged for the prize.

Though many came and left it in an hour.
« Most nights,» so said the good old Nicolo

(For three-and-thirty years his uncle kept
Here, among other pageants, and how oft

The water-gate below, but seldom spoke,
It came, as if returning to console

Though much was on his mind), most nights arrived
The least, instruct the greatest, did the Doge,

The prison-boat, that boat with many oars,
Himself, go round, borne through the gazing crowd,

And bore away as to the Lower World,
Once in a chair of state, once on his bier.
They were his first appearance, and his last.

Disburdening in the Canal Orfano, (43)
That drowning-place, where never net was thrown,

Summer or Winter, death the penalty;
that emblem of uncertainty,

And where a secret, once deposited,
Changed not so fast for many and many an age, Lay till the waters should give up their dead..
As this small spot. To-day 't was full of maskers;
And lo, the madness of the Carnival, (39)

Scala de' Giganti.

The sea,