The last,--the sole,-the dearest link One on the earth, and one beneath My brothers--both had ceased to breathe: I could not die; I had no earthly hope-but faith, And that forbade a selfish death. IX. What next befell me then and there And then of darkness too: I had no thought, no feeling-none- There were no stars,-no earth,-no time, No check, no change, -no good, crime, But silence, and a stirless breath -no Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless! X. A light broke in upon my brain- It ceased, and then it came again, But then by dull degrees came back But through the crevice where it came A lovely bird, with azure wings, I never saw its like before, I ne'er shall see its likeness more : It seem'd, like me, to want a mate, Or broke its cage to perch on mine, Sweet bird, I could not wish for thine! Or if it were, in wingèd guise, A visitant from Paradise; A single cloud on a sunny day, XI. A kind of change came in my fate, Along my cell from side to side, My brothers' graves without a sod. XII. I made a footing in the wall, For I had buried one and all Who loved me in a human shape: And the whole earth would henceforth be A wider prison unto me: No child-no sire-no kin had I, No partner in my misery; I thought of this, and I was glad, For thought of them had made me mad. To my barr'd windows, and to bend XIII. I saw them--and they were the same, The only one in view : A small green isle, it seem'd no more, And then new tears came in my eye, Between the entrances of the Rhone and Villeneuve, not j far from Chillon, is a very small island; the only one I could Precive, in my voyage round and over the lake, within its rcumference. It contains a few trees (I think not above three), and from its singleness and diminutive size has a pecukar effect upon the view. The darkness of my dim abode XIV. It might be months, or years, or days, I kept no count-I took no note, I had no hope my eyes to raise, And clear them of their dreary mote; At last men came to set me free, I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where, It was at length the same to me, Fetter'd or fetterless to be, I learn'd to love despair. And thus, when they appear'd at last, BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY. 1817. Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: Look you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own atry; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce ank that you have swam in a Gondola.-As You Like It, Act IV., Scene I. Annotation of the Commentators. That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then what Paris -the seat of all dissoluteness.-S. A. Tis known, at least it should be, that throughout All countries of the Catholic persuasion, me weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about, The people take their fill of recreation, And buy repentance, ere they grow devout, However high their rank, or low their station, With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, masking, And other things which may be had for asking. 19 II. The moment night with dusky mantle covers Guitars, and every other sort of strumming. III. And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical, From travellers accustom'd from a boy VIII. And therefore humbly I would recommend 'The curious in fish-sauce,' before they cross The sea, to bid their cook, or wife, or friend, Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in gro (Or if set out beforehand, these may send By any means least liable to loss) Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Harvey, Or, by the Lord! a Lent will well nigh starve y IX. That is to say, if your religion's Roman, All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical, Sakspeare described the sex in Desdemona Such matters may be probably the same, XVIII. heir jealousy (if they are ever jealous) Is of a fair complexion altogether, ct like that sooty devil of Othello's, Which smothers women in a bed of feather, lut worthier of these much more jolly fellows, When weary of the matrimonial tether His head for such a wife no mortal bothers, it takes at once another, or another's. XIX 1st ever see a Gondola? For fear You should not, I'll describe it you exactly: sa long cover'd boat that's common here, Carved at the prow, built lightly, but compactly, Que septem dici sex tamen es e solent.-OVID. Row'd by two rowers, each call'd 'Gondolier,' And up and down the long canals they go, But not to them do woeful things belong, XXI. But to my story.--'Twas some years ago, Her real name I know not, nor can guess, And so we'll call her Laura, if you please, Because it slips into my verse with ease. XXII. She was not old, nor young, nor at the years Which certain people call a 'certain age,' Which yet the most uncertain age appears, Because I never heard, nor could engage A person yet by prayers, or bribes, or tears, To name, define by speech, or write on page, The period meant precisely by that word,Which surely is exceedingly absurd. XXIII. Laura was blooming still, had made the best Of time, and time return'd the compliment, And treated her genteelly, so that, dress'd, She look'd extremely well where'er she went ; A pretty woman is a welcome guest, 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, 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, And made some voyages, too, in other seas, And when he lay in quarantine for pratique (A forty days' precaution 'gainst disease), His wife would mount at times her highest attic, For thence she could discern the ship with He was a merchant, trading to Aleppo, [ease: His name Giuseppe, call'd more briefly Beppo. XXXII. His 'bravo' was decisive, for that sound For fear of some false note's detected flaw. XXXIII. He patronized the Improvisatori, Nay, could himself extemporize some start Wrote rhymes, sang songs, could also tell a sty Sold pictures, and was skilful in the dance. Italians can be, though in this their glory Must surely yield the palm to that wil In short, he was a perfect cavaliero, XXXIV. Then he was faithful, too, as well as amorous XXXV. No wonder such accomplishments should tur A female head, however sage and steadyWith scarce a hope that Beppo could retura In law he was almost as good as dead, he Nor sent nor wrote, nor show'd the least concr And she had waited several years already. And really if a man won't let us know That he's alive, he's dead, or should be so. XXXVI. Besides, within the Alps, to every woman (Although, God knows, it is a grievous st Tis, I may say, permitted to have toy mah I can't tell who first brought the custom t But 'Cavalier Serventes' are quite comma And no one notices, nor cares a pin ; And we may call this (not to say the worst) A second marriage, which corrupts the fr XXXVII. The word was formerly a 'Cicisbeo," But that is now grown vulgar and indec The Spaniards call the person a * Corteje, For the same mode subsists in Spain, th recent ; In short, it reaches from the Po to Teio, And may perhaps at last be o'er the sea s • Cortejo is pronounced Corteks, with an astratt, w ing to the Arabesque guttural. It means what there no precise name for in England, though the practas common as in any tramontane country whatever. |