A DREAM IN A GONDOLA.

I HAD a dream of waters: I was borne
Fast down the slimy tide

Of eldest Nile, and endless flats forlorn
Stretched out on either side,-

Save where from time to time arose

Red Pyramids, like flames in forced repose, And Sphynxes gazed, vast countenances bland, Athwart that river-sea and sea of sand.

It is the nature of the Life of Dream,
To make all action of our mental springs,
Howe'er unnatural, discrepant, and strange,
Be as the' unfolding of most usual things;
And thus to me no wonder did there seem,
When, by a subtle change,

The heavy, ample, byblus-wingèd, boat,
In which I lay afloat,

Became a deft canoe, light-wove

Of painted bark, gay-set with lustrous shells,
Faintingly rocked within a lonesome cove,
Of some rich island where the Indian dwells;
Below, the water's pure white light

Took colour from reflected blooms,

And, through the forest's deepening glooms,
Birds of illuminated plumes

Came out like stars in summer-night :

And close beside, all fearless and serene,

Within a niche of drooping green,

A girl, with limbs fine-rounded and clear-brown, And hair thick-waving down,

Advancing one small foot, in beauty stood,
Trying the temper of the lambent flood.

But on my spirit in that spiced air Embalmed, and in luxurious senses drowned, Another change of sweet and fair

There passed, and of the scene around Nothing remained the same in sight or sound : For now the Wanderer of my dream

Was gliding down a fable-stream

Of long-dead Hellas, with much treasure
Of inworking thoughtful pleasure;

While the silver line meanders

Through the tall pink oleanders,
Through the wood of tufted rushes,
Through the arbute's ruby-bushes,
Voices of a happy hymn

Every moment grow less dim,
Till at last the slim caïque
(Hollowed from a single stem
Of a hill-brow's diadem)
Rests in a deep-dented creek
Myrtle-ambushed,—and above
Songs, the very breath of Love,
Stream from Temples reverend-old,

Porticoes of Doric mould,

Snow-white islands of devotion,
Planted in the rose and gold

Of the evening's æther-ocean ;

O joyant earth! beloved Grecian sky!

O favoured Wanderer-honoured dreamer I !

Yet not less favoured when awake,--for now, Across my torpid brow

Swept a cool current of the young night's air,
With a sharp kiss, and there

Was I all clear awake,-drawn soft along
There in my own dear Gondola, among
The bright-eyed Venice isles,

Lit up in constant smiles.—

What had my thoughts and heart to do
With wild Egyptian bark, or frail canoe,
Or mythic skiff out of Saturnian days,
When I was there, with that rare scene to praise,
That Gondola to rest in and enjoy,

That actual bliss to taste without alloy?

Cradler of placid pleasures, deep delights,

Bosomer of the Poet's wearied mind,

Tempter from vulgar passions, scorns and spites,
Enfolder of all feelings that be kind!
Before our souls thy quiet motions spread,
In one great calm, one undivided plain,
Immediate joy, blest memories of the dead,
And iris-tinted forms of hope's domain,
Child of the still Lagoons!

Open to every show

Of summer sunsets and autumnal moons,
Such as no other space of world can know,-

Dear Boat! that makest dear

Whatever thou com'st near,—

In thy repose still let me gently roam,
Still on thy couch of beauty find a home;
Still let me share thy comfortable peace
With all I have of dearest upon Earth,
Friend, mistress, sister; and when death's release
Shall call my spirit to another birth,

Would that I might thus lightly lapse away, Alone,-by moonlight,-in a Gondola.

AT VENICE.

NOT only through the golden haze
Of indistinct surprise,

With which the Ocean-bride displays

Her pomp to stranger eyes ;-
Not with the fancy's flashing play,
The trave'ller's vulgar theme,
Where following objects chase away
The moment's dazzling dream ;—

Not thus art thou content to see
The City of my love,-
Whose beauty is a thought to me
All mortal thoughts above;
And pass in dull unseemly haste,
Nor sight nor spirit clear,

As if the first bewilde'ring taste

Were all the banquet here!

When the proud Sea, for Venice' sake,

Itself consents to wear

The semblance of a land-locked lake,

Inviolably fair;

And in the dalliance of her Isles,
Has levelled his strong waves,
Adoring her with tende'rer wiles,

Than his own pearly caves,

Surely may we to simi'lar calm

Our noisy lives subdue,

And bare our bosoms to such balm

As God has given to few :

Surely may we delight to pause

On our care-goaded road,

Refuged from Time's most bitter laws

In this august abode.

Thou knowest this,-thou lingerest here, Rejoicing to remain ;

The plashing oars fall on thy ear

Like a familiar strain ;

No wheel prolongs its weary roll,
The Earth itself goes round

Slower than elsewhere, and thy soul
Dreams in the void of sound.

Thy heart, by Nature's discipline,

From all disdain refined,

Kept open to be written in

By good of every kind,

Can harmonise its inmost sense

To every outward tone,

And bring to all experience

High reasoning of its own.

So, when these forms come freely out,

And wonder is gone by,

With patient skill it sets about

Its subtle work of joy ;