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I own that I should deem it much, Reminding me, through every ill,
Of the abodes of men.
“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.
His new-born tameness nought avail'd,
My limbs were bound; my force had failid,
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,
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:
Some streaks announced the coming sun
Methought that mist of dawning gray
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,
And fillid the earth, from his deep throne,
“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,
And feet that iron never shod,
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,
And must it dawn upon his grave?
“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
I saw the expecting raven fly
Who scarce would wait till both should die,
Ere his repast begun;
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
Which fix'd my dull eyes from afar,
And went and came with wandering beamn, To that which our foreboding years
And of the cold, dull, swimming, dense
Sensation of recurring sense,
And then subsiding back to death,
And then again a little breath,
A little thrill, a short suspense,
An icy sickness curdling o'er
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,
A sigh, and nothing more.
“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?
As doubtful that the former trance
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
Since I became the Cossack's guest :
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.
Let none despond, let none despair!
Upon his Turkish bank,- and never
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
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.
"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,
And there are songs, and quavers, roaring, And other things which may be had for
Guitars, and every other sort of strumming.
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
(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
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
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.
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;
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.
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.
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
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,
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