XIV. NIGHT came, and we embarked; but instantly, Tho' she had stept on board so light of foot, Laughing she knew not why as sure of pleasure, She fell asleep, she slept upon my arm. From time to time I waked her; but the boat Rocked her to sleep again. The moon was up, But broken by a cloud. The wind was hushed, And the sea mirror-like. A single zephyr Played with her tresses, and drew more and more Her veil across her bosom. Long I lay Contemplating that face so beautiful, That rosy mouth, that cheek dimpled with smiles, That neck but half-concealed, whiter than snow. 'Twas the sweet slumber of her early age. I looked and looked, and felt a flush of joy I would express but cannot. Oft I wished Gently -- by stealth -- to drop asleep myself, And to incline yet lower that sleep might come; Oft closed my eyes as in forgetfulness. 'Twas all in vain. Love would not let me rest. But how delightful when at length she waked! When, her light hair adjusting, and her veil So rudely scattered, she resumed her place Beside me; and, as gaily as before, Sitting unconsciously nearer and nearer, Poured out her innocent mind! So, nor long since, Sung a Venetian: and his lay of love, Dangerous and sweet, charmed VENICE. As for me (Less fortunate, if Love be Happiness) No curtain drawn, no pulse beating alarm, I went alone under the silent moon; Thy place, ST. MARK, thy churches, palaces, Glittering and frost-like, and, as day drew on, The slave-quay passed, adventurer-like I launched Into the deep, ere-long discovering Isles such as cluster in the Southern seas, All verdure. Every where, from bush and brake, The musky odour of the serpents came; Their slimy track across the woodman's path Bright in the moonshine: and, as round I went, Dreaming of Greece,whither the waves were gliding, I listened to the venerable pines Then in close converse; and, if right I guessed, Delivering many a message to the winds In secret, for their kindred on Mount IDA. Nor when again in VENICE, when again In that strange place, so stirring and so still, Where nothing comes to drown the human voice But music, or the dashing of the tide, Ceased I to wander. Now a Jessica Sung to her lute, her signal as she sate At her half-open window. Then, methought, A serenade broke silence, breathing hope Thro' walls of stone, and torturing the proud heart Of some Priuli. Once, we could not err, (It was before an old Palladian house, As between night and day we floated by) We rested; and the verse was verse divine! We could not err-Perhaps he was the last— For none took up the strain, none answered him; And when he ceased, he left upon my ear A something like the dying voice of VENICE! |