VIII. And therefore humbly I would recommend IX. That is to say, if your religion's Roman, Would rather dine in sin on a ragout- X. Of all the places where the Carnival Was most facetious in the days of yore, For dance, and song, and serenade, and ball, And masque, and mime, and mystery, and more Than I have time to tell now, or at all, Venice the bell from every city bore,And at the moment when I fix my story, That sea-born city was in all her glory. XI. They've pretty faces yet, those same Venetians, In ancient arts by moderns mimick'd ill; And like so many Venuses of Titian's (The best's at Florence-see it, if ye will,) They look when leaning over the balcony, Or stepp'd from out a picture by Giorgione,3 XII. Whose tints are truth and beauty at their best; Is loveliest to my mind of all the show; And that's the cause I rhyme upon it so: 'Tis but a portrait of his son, and wife, And self; but such a woman! love in life !5 XIII. Love in full life and length, not love ideal, That the sweet model must have been the same; The face recalls some face, as 'twere with pain, XIV. One of those forms which flit by us, when we The youth, the bloom, the beauty which agree, Whose course and home we knew not, nor shall know, XV. I said that like a picture by Giorgione (For beauty's sometimes best set off afar) And there, just like a heroine of Goldoni, They peep from out the blind, or o'er the bar; And truth to say, they're mostly very pretty, And rather like to show it, more's the pity! XVI. For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter, Which flies on wings of light-heel'd Mercuries, Who do such things because they know no better; And then, God knows what mischief may arise, When love links two young people in one fetter, Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and heads. XVII. Shakspeare described the sex in Desdemona Such matters may be probably the same, XVII. Their jealousy (if they are ever jealous) Which smothers women in a bed of feather, 8 XIX. Didst ever see a Gondola? For fear You should not, I'll describe it you exactly: 'Tis a long cover'd boat that's common here, Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly, Row'd by two rowers, each call'd "Gondolier," It glides along the water looking blackly, Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, Where none can make out what you say or do. XX. And up and down the long canals they go, But not to them do woeful things belong, ΧΧΙ. But to my story.-'Twas some years ago, Her real name I know not, nor can guess, XXIT. She was not old, nor young, nor at the years XXIII. Laura was blooming still, had made the best And Laura's brow a frown had rarely bent; Indeed, she shone all smiles, and seem'd to flatter Mankind with her black eyes for looking at her. XXIV. She was a married woman; 'tis convenient, Because in Christian countries 'tis a rule To view their little slips with eyes more lenient; Whereas if single ladies play the fool, (Unless within the period intervenient A well-timed wedding makes the scandal cool) I don't know how they ever can get over it, Except they manage never to discover it. XXV. Her husband sail'd upon the Adriatic, His name Giuseppe, call'd more briefly, Beppo. XXVI, He was a man as dusky as a Spaniard, And she, although her manners show'd no rigour, XXVII. But several years elapsed since they had met ; Some people thought the ship was lost, and some That he had somehow blunder'd into debt, And did not like the thought of steering home; And there were several offer'd any bet, Or that he would, or that he would not come; For most men (till by losing render'd sager) Will back their own opinions with a wager. |