Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings Of the young victors to their Patron-Saint,

Vowed on the field of battle, were ere-long

Laid at his feet; and to preserve for ever

The memory of a day so full of change,

From joy to grief, from grief to joy again, Through many an age, as oft as it came round, 'Twas held religiously with all observance.

The Doge resigned his crimson for pure ermine; And through the city in a stately barge

Of gold, were borne, with songs and symphonies, Clad they were

Twelve ladies young and noble.

In bridal white with bridal ornaments,

Each in her glittering veil; and on the deck,

As on a burnished throne, they glided by;

No window or balcony but adorned

With hangings of rich texture, not a roof

But covered with beholders, and the air

Vocal with joy. Onward they went, the oars

Moving in concert with the harmony,

Thro' the Rialto to the Ducal Palace,

And at a banquet there, served with due honor,

Sate representing, in the eyes of all,

Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears,

Their lovely ancestors, the Brides of VENICE.

XVI.

LET us lift up the curtain, and observe

What passes in that chamber. Now a sigh,

And now a groan is heard. Then all is still.

Twenty are sitting as in judgment there;

Men who have served their country, and grown grey

In governments and distant embassies,

Men eminent alike in war and peace;

Such as in effigy shall long adorn

The walls of Venice-to shew what she has been!

Their garb is black, and black the arras is,

And sad the general aspect. Yet their looks

Are calm, are cheerful; nothing there like grief,

Nothing or harsh, or cruel. Still that noise,

That low and dismal moaning.

Half withdrawn,

A little to the left, sits one in crimson,

A venerable man, fourscore and upward.

Cold drops of sweat stand on his furrowed brow. His hands are clenched; his eyes half shut and glazed;

His shrunk and withered limbs rigid as marble.

'Tis FOSCARI, the Doge. And there is one, A young man, lying at his feet, stretched out

In torture. "Tis his son, his only one;

"Tis GIACOMO, the blessing of his age,

(Say, has he lived for this?) accused of murder,

The murder of the Senator Donato.

Last night the proofs, if proofs they are, were dropt

Into the lion's mouth, the mouth of brass,

That gapes and gorges; and the Doge himself,

("Tis not the first time he has filled this office,)

Must sit and look on a beloved Son

Suffering the Question.

"Twice, to die in peace,

To save a falling house, and turn the hearts

Of his fell Adversaries, those who now,

Like hell-hounds in full cry, are running down
His last of four, twice did he ask their leave
To lay aside the Crown, and they refused him,

An oath exacting, never more to ask it;