"WHEN BY A GOOD MAN'S GRAVE I MUSE ALONE, METHINKS AN ANGEL SITS UPON THE STONE,-(SAMUEL ROGERS)

"WHO BUT IN SORROW KNOW HOW MUCH THEY LOVE?"-ROGERS.

[It was the annual custom in Venice, on St. Mary's Eve, for twelve young maidens, dowered by the State, to be publicly united to their lovers. As the bridal procession, in 936, was wending its way to the Church of San Pietro, it was surprised by a band of sea-rovers, who carried off the shrieking virgins, and bearing them to their barks, hoisted sail for Trieste. The Doge, Candiano II., who was present at the festival, summoned the people to arms; a few barks were hastily manned, and with vigorous oars sped in pursuit of the ravishers, who were overtaken, and after a fierce struggle conquered not one of them receiving quarter. The brides were then brought back to the city in triumph.—Sabellico, decade i., lib. iii., p. 56.]

88

T was St. Mary's Eve, and all poured forth
For some great festival. The fisher came
From his green islet, bringing o'er the waves
His wife and little one; the husbandman
From the firm land, with many a friar and nun,
And village maiden, her first flight from home,
Crowding the common ferry. All arrived;
And in his straw the prisoner turned to hear,
So great the stir in Venice. Old and young
Thronged her three hundred bridges; the grave Turk,
Turbaned, long-vested; and the cozening Jew,
In yellow hat and threadbare gaberdine,
Hurrying along. For, as the custom was,
The noblest sons and daughters of the State,
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, proclaimed them near;
And never from their earliest hour was seen
Such splendour or such beauty. Two and two
(The richest tapestry unrolled before them),
First came the brides; each in her virgin-veil,
Nor unattended by her bridal maids,

The two that, step by step, behind her bore

66 BEWARE THE POISON IN THE CUP OF GOLD!"-SAMUEL ROGERS.

AND, WITH A VOICE INSPIRING JOY, NOT FEAR, SAYS, POINTING UPWARD, KNOW, HE IS NOT HERE!'"-Rogers.

"NO, 'TIS NOT HERE THAT SOLITUDE IS KNOWN: THROUGH THE WIDE WORLD HE ONLY IS ALONE-(ROGERS)

"O'ER PLACE AND TIME WE TRIUMPH; ON WE go,—(kogers)

THE BRIDES OF VENICE.

The small but precious caskets that contained
The dowry and the presents. On she moved
In the sweet seriousness of virgin youth;

Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand
A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich plumes.
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 structure now no more,*

On the sea-brink, another train they met,
No strangers, nor unlooked-for ere they came,
Brothers to some, still dearer to the rest;
Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume,
And, as he walked, with modest dignity
Folding his scarlet mantle. At the gate
They join; and slowly up the bannered aisle
Led by the choir, with due solemnity

Range round the altar....... In his vestments there
The Patriarch stands; and, while the anthem flows,
Who can look on unmoved-the dream of years
Just now fulfilling!......

At length the rite is ending, all fall down,
All of all ranks; and, stretching out his hands,
Apostle-like, the holy man proceeds

To give the blessing—not a stir, a breath;
When, hark! a din of voices from without,
And shrieks and groans and outcries as in battle!
And lo! the door is burst, the curtain rent,

* San Pietro di Castello, the Patriarchal Church of Venice.

YET, AH, HOW LITTLE OF OURSELVES WE KNOW!"-rogers.

363

WHO LIVES NOT FOR ANOTHER.

COME WHAT WILL, THE GENEROUS MAN HAS HIS COMPANION STILL."-ROGERS.

"SWEET DROP OF PURE AND PEARLY LIGHT! IN THEE THE RAYS OF VIRTUE SHINE,ROGERS,

364

"SAY, WHAT REMAINS WHEN HOPE IS PLED?

SAMUEL ROGERS.

And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep,
Savage, uncouth, led on by Barberigo
And his six brothers in their coats of steel,
Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like

Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude,
Each with his sabre up, in act to strike;
Then, as at once recovering from the spell,
Rush forward to the altar, and as soon
Are gone again—amid no clash of arms—

Bearing away the maidens and the treasures.
Where are they now?-ploughing the distant waves,
Their sails outspread and given to the wind,
They on their decks triumphant. On they speed,
Steering for Istria...................

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-everywhere
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 control,
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 signals. In the east

A ship is seen, and making for the port;

Her flag St. Mark's.

And now she turns the point,

SHE ANSWERed, 'endleSS WEEPING!'"-rogers.

MORE CALMLY CLEAR, MORE MILDLY BRIGHT, THAN ANY GEM THAT GILDS THE MINE."-ROGERS.

"

THE LARK WAS UP, AND AT THE GATE OF HEAVEN,

THE BRIDES OF VENICE.

365

Over the waters like a sea-bird flying!

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

Coasting with narrow search

Friuli, like a tiger in his spring,

They had surprised the corsairs where they lay
Sharing the spoil in blinding 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.

Lost and recovered.

Thus were the brides

[From Rogers' "Italy," illustrated edition.]

"DEATH, WHEN WE MEET THE SPECTRE IN OUR WALKS, AS WE DID YESTERDAY, AND SHALL TO-MORROW,

SOON GROWS FAMILIAR-LIKE MOST OTHER THINGS, SEEN, NOT OBSERVED."-SAMUEL ROGERS.

Christina Rossetti.

[MISS ROSSETTI belongs to a brilliant and remarkable family. Her father was Gabriele Rossetti, an Italian author of eminence, and the founder of a new school of interpretation of Dante, who died in London in 1854. Her brother Danté Gabriele Rossetti, born in London in 1828, has won distinction as an elegant translator of early Italian poetry, and as an artist of much original power: in conjunction with his brother William, he has edited Gilchrist's "Life of William Blake." He has also issued a volume of remarkable poetry, which has attracted the admiration both of critics and the public. William has edited the "Works of Shelley." Christina Gabriella Rossetti was born about 1835 or 1836, and, as the author of "Goblin Market," "The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems," has attained a high rank among living poets.]

* "Paululum etiam spirans," &c.-Sallust, "Bell. Catalin."

SINGING, AS SURE TO ENTER WHEN HE CAME."-ROGERS.

"DOES THE ROAD WIND UP-HILL ALL THE WAY?

YES, TO THE VERY END.-CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

366

TO-DAY IS STILL THE SAME AS YESTERDAY,—(ROSSETTI)

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

THE BOURNE.*

NDERNEATH the growing grass,
Underneath the living flowers,

Deeper than the sound of showers :
There we shall not count the hours
By the shadows as they pass.

Youth and health will be but vain ;
Beauty reckoned of no worth;
There a very little girth

Can hold round what once the Earth
Seemed too narrow to contain.

WILL THE DAY'S JOURNEY TAKE THE WHOLE LONG DAY?

FROM MORN TO NIGHT, MY FRIEND."-ROSSETTI.

SUMMER.

INTER is cold-hearted;
Spring is yea and nay ;
Autumn is a weathercock,
Blown every way:
Summer days for me,

When every leaf is on its tree,

When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,

And larks hang, singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,

And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider

Swings from side to side,

*"That dim and undiscovered bourne

From which no traveller returns."-Shakespeare.

TO-MORROW ALSO EVEN AS ONE OF THEM."-C. ROSSETTI.