The moon went down; and nothing now was seen

Save here and there the lamp of a Madonna,

Glimmering—or heard, but when he spoke, who

stood

Over the lantern at the prow and cried,

Turning the corner of some reverend pile,

Some school or hospital of old renown,

Tho' haply none were coming, none were near,

'Hasten or slacken.'*

But at length Night fled;

And with her fled, scattering, the sons of Pleasure.

Star after star shot by, or, meteor-like,

Crossed me and vanished-lost at once among

Those hundred Isles that tower majestically,

That rise abruptly from the water-mark,

Not with rough crag, but marble, and the work

* Premi o stali.

Of noblest architects. I lingered still;

Nor struck my threshold, till the hour was come And past, when, flitting home in the grey light, The young BIANCA found her father's door,

That door so often with a trembling hand,

So often-then so lately left ajar,

Shut; and, all terror, all perplexity,

Now by her lover urged, now by her love,

Fled o'er the waters to return no more.

XV.

Ir was St. Mary's Eve, 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, Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;

And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened, Old and young

So great the stir in VENICE.

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 crowd, 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;

And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone,

Ruby or diamond or dark amethyst;

A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath,

Wreathing her gold brocade.

Before the Church,

That venerable Pile on the sea-brink,

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,