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I own that I should deem it much, Reminding me, through every ill,
Dying, to feel the same again;

Of the abodes of men.
And yet I do suppose we must
Feel far more ere we turn to dust:

“Onward we went, but slack and slow; No matier; I have bared my brow

His savage force at length o'erspent, Full in Death's face-before-and now.

The drooping courser, faint and low,

All feebly foaming went. “My thoughts came back; where was I? A sickly infant had had power


To guide him forward in that hour;

But useless all to me.
And nunb, and giddy: pulse by pulse
Life reassumed its lingering hold,

His new-born tameness nought avail'd,
And throb by throb ; till grown a pang

My limbs were bound; my force had failid,
Which for a moment would convulse, Perchance, had they been free.
My blood reflow'd, though thick and With feeble effort still I tried


To rend the bounds so starkly tied — My ear with uncouth noises rang,

But still it was in vain; My heart began once inore to thrill;

My limbs were only wrung the morc, My sight return'd, though dim; alas ! And soon the idle strife gave o'er, And thicken'd, were,

with glass.

Which but prolong'd their pain: Methought the dash of waves was nigh ;

The dizzy race seem'd almost done, There was a gleam too of the sky,

Although no goal was nearly won:
Studded with stars;- it is no dream;

Some streaks announced the coming sun
The wild horse swims the wilder stream! How slow, alas ! he came !
The bright broad river's gushing tide

Methought that mist of dawning gray
Sweeps, winding onward, far and wide,

Would never dapple into day: And we are half-way struggling o’er

How heavily it rollid awayTo yon unknown and silent shore.

Before the eastern flame The waters broke my hollow trance,

Rose crimson, and deposed the stars, And with a temporary strength

And call'd the radiance from their cars,
My stiffen'd limbs were rebaptized.

And fillid the earth, from his deep throne,
My courser's broad breast proudly braves, With lonely lustre, all his own.
And dashes off the ascending waves
And onward we advance!

“Up rose the sun; the mists were curl'd We reach the slippery shore at length,

Back from the solitary world A haven I but little prized,

Which lay around-behind - before : For all behind was dark and drear,

What booted it to traverse o'er And all before was night and fear.

Plain, forest, river? Man nor brute, How many hours of night or day

Nor dint of hoof, nor print of foot, In those suspended pangs I lay,

Lay in the wild luxuriant soil; I could not tell; I scarcely knew

No sign of travel-none of toil; If this were human breath I drew.

The very air was mute;

And not an insect's shrill small horn, "With glossy skin, and dripping mane, Nor matin bird's new voice was borne And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, From herb nor thicket. Many a werst, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Panting as if his heart would burst, Up the repelling bank.

The weary brute still stagger'd on; We gain the top: a boundless plain And still we were- or seem'd-alone: Spreads through the shadow of the night, At length, while reeling on our way, And onward, onward, onward, seems Methought I heard a courser neigh, Like precipices in our dreams,

From out yon tuft of blackening firs. To stretch beyond the sight;

Is it the wind those branches stirs ? And here and there a speck of white, No, no! from out the forest prance Or scatter'd spot of dusky green,

A trampling troop; I see them come! In masses broke into the light,

In one vast squadron they advance! As rose the moon upon my right.

I strove to cry—my lips were dumb. But nought distinctly seen

The steeds rush on in plunging pride ; In the dim waste, would indicate

But where are they the reins to guide ? The omen of a cottage-gate;

A thousand horse - and none to ride! No twinkling taper from afar

With flowing tail, and flying mane, Stood like an hospitable star;

Wide nostrils- never stretch'd by pain, Not even an ignis-fatuus rose

Mouths bloodless to the bit or rein,
To make him weary with my woes :

And feet that iron never shod,
That very cheat had cheer'd me then! And flanks unscarr'd by spur or rod.
Although detected, welcome still,

A thousand horse, the wild, the free,

Like waves that follow o'er the sea, The wretch still hopes his woes must end, Came thickly thundering on,

And Death, whom he should deem his friend, As if our faint approach to meet;

Appears, to his distemper'd eyes, The sight re-nerved my courser's feet, Arrived to rob him of his prize, A moment staggering, feebly fleet,

The tree of his new Paradise. A moment, with a faint low neigh, To-morrow would have given him all, He answer'd, and then fell;

Repaid his pangs, repair’d his fall; With gasps and glazing eyes he lay, To-morrow would have been the first And reeking limbs immoveable,

Of days no more deplored or curst. His first and last career is done!

But bright, and long, and beckoning years,
On came the troop- they saw him stoop, Seen dazzling through the mist of tears,
They saw me strangely bound along Guerdon of many a painful hour ;
His back with many a bloody thong : To-morrow would have given him power
They stop-- they start--they snuff the air, To rule, to shine, to smite, to save-
Gallop a moment here and there,

And must it dawn upon his grave?
Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
Then plunging back with sudden bound,
Headed by one black mighty steed,

“The sun was sinking-still I lay Who seem'd the patriarch of his breed,

Chain’d to the chill and stiffening steed, Without a single speck or hair

I thought to mingle there our clay ; Of white upon his shaggy hide ;

And my dim eyes of death had need, They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside,

No hope arose of being freed: And backward to the forest fly,

I cast my last looks up the sky,

And there between me and the sun
By instinct from a human eye.-
They left me there, to my despair,

I saw the expecting raven fly
Link'd to the dead and stiffening wretch,

Who scarce would wait till both should die,

Ere his repast begun;
Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch,
Relieved from that unwonted weight,

He flew, and perch'd, then flew once more, From whence I could not extricate

And each time nearer than before; Nor him nor memand there we lay,

I saw his wing through twilight flit,

And once so near me he alit The dying on the dead !

I could have smote, but lack'd the strength; I little deem'd another day

But the slight motion of my hand, Would see my louseless, helpless head.

And feeble scratching of the sand,

The exerted throat's faint struggling noise, “And there from morn till twilight bound, which scarcely could be callà a voice, I felt the heavy hours toil round,

Together scared him off at length.-With just enough of life to see

I know no more - my latest dream

Is something of a lovely star
My last of suns go down on me,

Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar,
In hopeless certainty of mind,
That makes us feel at length resign'd

And went and came with wandering beamn, To that which our foreboding years

And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense

Sensation of recurring sense,
Presents the worst and last of fears

And then subsiding back to death,
Inevitable - even a boon,
Nor more unkind for coming soon;

And then again a little breath,

A little thrill, a short suspense,
Yet shunn'd and dreaded with such care,

An icy sickness curdling o'er
As if it only were a snare
That prudence might escape:

My heart, and sparks that cross'd my brain At times both wish'd for and implored,

A gasp, a throb, a start of pain,
At times sought with self-pointed sword,

A sigh, and nothing more.
Tet still a dark and hideous close
To even intolerable woes,

“I woke-Where was I?-Do I see And welcome in no shape.

A human face look down on me? And, strange to say, the sons of pleasure, And doth a roof above me close ? "They who have revell’d beyond measure Do these limbs on a couch repose? la beauty, wassail, wine, and treasure, Is this a chamber where I lie? Die calnı, or calmer, oft than he

And is it mortal yon bright eye, Whose heritage was misery :

That watches me with gentle glance?
Før he who bath in turn run through I closed my own again once more,
All that was beautiful and new,

As doubtful that the former trance
Hath nought to hope, and nought to leave; Could not as yet be o’er.
And, save the future (which is view'd A slender girl, long-hair'd, and tall,
Net quite as men are base or good, Sate watching by the cottage-wall;
But as their nerves may be endued,) The sparkle of her eye I caught,
With nought perhaps to grieve:-

Even with my first return of thought;

For ever and anon she threw

"She came with mother and with sireA prying, pitying glance on me

What need of more?-I will not tire
With her black eyes so wild and free: With long recital of the rest,
I gazed, and gazed, until I knew

Since I became the Cossack's guest :
No vision it could be,

They found me senseless on the plain But that I lived, and was released They bore me to the nearest hutFrom adding to the vulture's feast: They brought me into life againAnd when the Cossack-maid beheld

Me-one day o'er their realm to reign ! My heavy eyes at length unseald, Thus the vain fool who strove to glut She smiled—and I essay'd to speak, Ilis rage, refining on my pain, But faild-and she approach'd, and made Sent me forth to the wilderness, With lip and finger signs that said, Bound, naked, bleeding, and alone, I must not strive as yet to break

To pass the desert to a throne.
The silence, till my strength should be What mortal his own doom may guess ?
Enough to leave my accents free;

Let none despond, let none despair!
And then her hand on inine she laid, To-morrow the Borysthenes
And smooth'd the pillow for my head, May see our coursers graze at ease
And stole along on tiptoe tread,

Upon his Turkish bank,- and never
And gently oped the door, and spake Had I such welcome for a river
In whispers – ne'er was voice so sweet! As I shall yield when safely there.
Even music follow'd her light feet! - Comrades, good night!”– The Hetman threw
But those she call'd were not awake, His length beneath the oak-tree-shade,
And she went forth; but, ere she pass'd, With leafy couch already made,
Another look on me she cast,

A bed nor comfortless nor new Another sign she made, to say,

To him who took his rest whene'er That I had nought to fear, that all The hour arrived, no matter where :-Were near, at my command or call, His eyes the hastening slumbers steep. And she would not delay

And if ye marvel Charles forgot
Her due return; - while she was gone To thank his tale, he wonder'd not,
Methought I felt too much alone. The king had been an hour asleep.

B E P P 0,

A V E N E T LA N S T o R Y.

ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with yonr Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are ; or I will scarce think that you have swam in a GONDOLA.

As You LIKE IT, Act. IV. Sc. 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 is now-the seat of all


"Tis known, at least is should be, that | The moment night with dusky mantle

throughout All countries of the Catholic persuasion, The skies (and the more duskily the better), Some weeks before Shrove-Tuesday mes The time less liked by husbands than by about,

lovers The people take their fill of recreation, Begins, and prudery flings aside her And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,

fetter; However high their rank, or low their And gaiety on restless tiptoe hovers,


Giggling with all the gallants who beset With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking,

her; masking,

And there are songs, and quavers, roaring, And other things which may be had for

humming, asking

Guitars, and every other sort of strumming.


starve ye;



And there are dresses splendid, but fantast- | And therefore humbly I would recommend


“The curious in fish-sauce," before they Masks of all times and nations, Turks and


The sea, to bid their cook, or wise, or And harlequins and clowns, with feats

friend, gymnastical, Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in Greeks, Romans, Yankee - doodles, and

gross Hindoos;

(Or if set out beforehand, these may send All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical, By any means least liable to loss), All people, as their fancies hit, may choose, Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Hervey, But no one in these parts may quiz the Or, by the Lord! a Lent will well nigh

clergy, Therefore take heed, ye Freethinkers ! I

charge ye.

That is to say, if your religion's Roman,

And you at Rome would do as Romans do, You'd better walk about begirt with briars, According to the proverb, - although no Instead of coat and smallclothes, than put on A single stitch reflecting upon friars, If foreign, is obliged to fast; and you, Although you swore it only was in fun; If protestant, or sickly, or a woman, They'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir would rather dine in sin on a ragout

the fires

Dine, and be d-d! I don't mean to be of Phlegethon with every mother's son, Nor say one mass to cool the cauldron's But that's the penalty, to say no worse.

bubble That boild your bones, unless you paid

them double. Of all the places where the Carnival

Was most facetious in the days of yore,

For dance, and song, and serenade, and ball, Bnt saving this, you may put on whate'er And masque,and mime and mystery,and more You like, by way of doublet, cape, or cloak, Than I have time to tell now, or at all, Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag-Fair, Venice the bell from every city bore, Would rig you out in seriousness or joke; And at the moment when I fix my story, And even in Italy such places are

That sca-born city was in all her glory.
With prettier names in softer accents spoke,
For, bating Covent-Garden, I can hit on
No place that's called “Piazza” in Great- They've pretty faces yet, those same

Black eyes, arch'd brows, and sweet ex-

pressions still, This feast is named the Carnival, which Such as of old were copied from the being

Grecians, Interpreted, implies “farewell to flesh:” In ancient arts by moderns mimick'd ill; callid, because the name and thing And like so many Venuses of Titian's

agreeing, (The best's at Florence--seo it, if ye will), Through Lent they live on fish both salt They look when leaning over the balcony,

and fresh. Or stepp'd from out a picture by Giorgione, But why they usher Lent with so much

glee in, Is more than I can tell, although I guess Whose tints are truth and beauty at their Tis as we take a glass with friends at


And when you to Manfrini's palace go, In the stage-coach or packet, just at starting. That picture (howsoever fine the rest)

Is loveliest to my mind of all the show:

It may perhaps be also to your zest, And thus they bid farewell to carnal dishes, And that's the cause I rhyme upon it so, And solid meats, and highly spiced ragouts, 'Tis but a portrait of his son, and wife, To live for forty days on ill-dress'd fishes, And self; but such a woman! love in life! Because they have no sauces to their stews, A thing which causes many “poohs” and


Love in full life and length, not love ideal, And several oaths (which would not suit No, nor ideal beauty, that fine name,

the Muse) But something better still, so very real, From travellers accustom'd from a boy That the sweet model must have been the Toeat their salmon, at the least, with soy;


best ;

A thing that you would purchase, beg, or Which smothers women in a bed of feather,


But worthier of these much more jolly Wer't not impossible, besides a shame:

fellows; The face recals some face, as 'twere with When weary of the matriinonial tether


His head for such a wife no mortal bothers, You once have seen, but ne'er will see But takes at once another, or another's.

again ;

Did'st ever see a gondola ? For fear One of those forms which flit by us, when we You should not, I'll describe it you exactly; Are young, and fix our eyes on every face; / 'Tis a long cover'd boat that's common here, And, oh! the loveliness at times we sce Carved at the prow, built lightly, but In momentary gliding, the soft grace,

compactly, The youth, the bloom, the beauty which Rowd by two rowers, each called “Gonagree,

dolier,” In many a nameless being we retrace, It glides along the water looking blackly, Whose course and home we knew not, nor Just like a coffin clapt in a canoe,

shall know, Where none can make out what you say Like the lost Pleiad seen no more below.

or do.


I said that like a picture by Giorgione And up and down the long canals they go, Venetian women were, and so they are,

And under the Rialto shoot along, Particularly seen from a balcony,

By night and day, all paces, swift or slow, (For beanty's sometimes best set off afar). And round the theatres, a sable throng, And there, just like a heroine of Goldoni, They wait in their dusk livery of woe, They peep from out the blind, or o'er the But not to them do woeful things belong,

For sometimes they contain a deal of fun, And, truth to say, they're mostly very Like mourning coaches when the funeral's pretty,

done. And rather like to show it, more's the


But to my story.- Twas some years ago,

It may be thirty, forty, more or less, For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, The Carnival was at its height, and so Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a Were all kinds of buffoonery and dress;


A certain lady went to see the show, Which flies on wings of light-heeld Mer- Her real name I know not, nor can guess,


And so we'll call her Laura, if you please, Who do such things because they know no Because it slips into my verse with ease.

better; And then, God knows what mischief may


She was not old, nor young, nor at the When love links two young people in one

years fetter,

Which certain people call a “certain age, Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Which yet the most uncertain age appears, Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and Because I never heard, nor could engage


A person yet by prayers, or bribes or tears,
To name, define by speech, or write on

Shakespeare described the sex in Desdemona The period meant precisely by that word, -
As very fair, but yet suspect in fame, Which surely is exceedingly absurd.
And to this day from Venice to Verona
Such matters may be probably the same,
Except that since those times was never Laura was blooming still, had made the best

known a

Of time, and time return’d the compliment, Husband whom mere suspicion could in- And treated her genteelly, so that, drest,


She look'd extremely well where'er she To suffocate a wife no more than twenty,

went : Because she had a "cavalier servente.” A pretty woman is a welcome guest,

And Laura's brow a frown had rarely bent,

Indeed she shone all smiles, and seem'd Their jealousy (if they are ever jealous)

to flatter Is of a fair complexion altogether,

Mankind with her black eyes for looking Not like that sooty devil of Othello's

at her.

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