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Over the Giudecca piled;
Of midnight palace-pillars, on Window just with window mating,
And on, to sow God's plagues, have gone Door on door exactly waiting,
Through guilty glorious Babylon. All's the set face of a child :
And while such murmurs flow, the nymph But behind it, where's a trace
Bends o'er the harp-top from her shell Of the staidness and reserve,
As the dry limpet for the lymph And formal lines without a curve,
Come with a tune he knows so well. In the same child's playing-face?
And how your statues' hearts must swell ! No two windows look one way
And how your pictures must descend O'er the small sea-water thread
To see each other, friend with friend ! Below them. Ah, the autumn day Oh, could you take them by surprise, I, passing, saw you overhead!
You'd find Schidone's eager Duke First, out a cloud of curtain blew,
Doing the quaintest courtesies Then a sweet cry, and last came you To that prim saint by Haste-thee-Luke! To catch your lory that must needs And, deeper into her rock den, Escape just then, of all times then,
Bold Castelfranco's Magdalen To peck a tall plant's fleecy seeds,
You'd find retreated from the ken
Of that robed counsel-keeping Ser —
And is not, rather, gravely bent
Are these, his progeny invent, That quick the round smooth cord of What litter now the board employs gold,
Whereon he signed a document This coiled hair on your head, unrolled, That got him murdered! Each enjoys Fell down you like a gorgeous snake Its night so well, you cannot break The Roman girls were wont, of old, The sport up, so, indeed must make When Rome there was, for coolness' sake More stay with me, for others' sake. To let lie curling o'er their bosoms. Dear lory, may his beak retain
She speaks Ever its delicate rose stain
To-morrow, if a harp-string, say, As if the wounded lotus-blossoms
Is used to tie the jasmine back Had marked their thief to know again! That overfloods my room with sweets,
Contrive your Zorzi somehow meets Stay longer yet, for others' sake
My Zanze! If the ribbon's black, Than mine! What should your chamber The Three are watching: keep away!
do? With all its rarities that ache
Your gondola - let Zorzi wreathe
In silence while day lasts, but wake
A mesh of water-weeds about At night-time and their life renew,
Its prow, as if he unaware Suspended just to pleasure you
Had struck some quay or bridge-foot Who brought against their will together.
stair! These objects, and, while day lasts, weave That I may throw a paper out Around them such a magic tether
As you and he go underneath. That dumb they look: your harp, believe,
There's Zanze's vigilant taper; safe are With all the sensitive tight strings Which dare not speak, now to itself Only one minute more to-night with me? Breathes slumberously, as if some elf Resume your past self of a month ago! Went in and out the chords, his wings Be you the bashful gallant, I will be Make murmur wheresoe'er they graze, The lady with the colder breast than As an angel may, between the maze
Not a word to each other; we kept the
great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never
changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths
tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the
pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker
the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.
By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried
Joris, “Ştay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's
not in her. We'll remember at Aix” for one heard
the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and
staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the
flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered
So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,
THE BISHOP ORDERS HIS TOMB Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in AT SAINT PRAXED'S CHURCH
the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless VANITY, saith the preacher, vanity! laugh,
Draw round my bed: is Anselm keep’Neath our feet broke the brittle bright ing back? stubble like chaff ;
Nephews — sons mine . ah God, I Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang
know not! Well white,
She, men would have to be your mother And “Gallop,” gasped Joris, "for Aix is
Old Gandolf envied me, so fair she was !
beside, “How they'll greet us !” — and all in a
Dead long ago, and I am Bishop since, moment his roan
And as she died so must we die ourselves, Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as
And thence ye may perceive the world's a stone;
a dream. And there was my Roland to bear the
Life, how and what is it? As here I lie whole weight
In this state-chamber, dying by degrees, Of the news which alone could save Aix
Hours and long hours in the dead night, from her fate,
I ask With his nostrils like pits full of blood to
“Do I live, am I dead?” Peace, peace the brim,
seems all. And with circles of red for his eye-sockets'
Saint Praxed's ever was the church for rim.
And so, about this tomb of mine. I Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each hol
fought ster let fall,
With tooth and nail to save my niche, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,
Old Gandolf cozened me, despite my Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted
Shrewd was that snatch from out the Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse
He graced his carrion with, God curse Clapped my hands, laughed and sang,
the same! any noise, bad or good,
Yet still my niche is not so cramped but Till at length into Aix Roland galloped
One sees the pulpit o' the epistle-side,
seats, And all I remember is - friends flocking And up into the very dome where live round
The angels, and a sunbeam's sure to lurk: As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees And I shall fill my slab of basalt there, on the ground;
And ’neath my tabernacle take my rest, And no voice but was praising this Roland With those nine columns round me, two
of mine, As I poured down his throat our last The odd one at my feet where Anselm measure of wine,
stands : Which (the burgesses voted by common Peach-blossom marble all, the rare, the consent)
ripe Was no more than his due who brought As fresh poured red wine of a mighty good news from Ghent.
Old Gandolf with his paltry onionstone, To revel down my villas while I gasp Put me where I may look at him! True Bricked o'er with beggar's mouldy travpeach,
ertine Rosy and flawless : how I earned the Which Gandolf from his tomb-top chuckles prize!
at! Draw close: that conflagration of my Nay, boys, ye love me — all of jasper, church
then! What then? So much was saved if 'Tis jasper ye stand pledged to, lest I aught were missed !
grieve My sons, ye would not be my death? My bath must needs be left behind, alas! Go dig
One block, pure green as a pistachio-nut, The white-grape vineyard where the oil. There's plenty jasper somewhere in the
world Drop water gently till the surface sink, And have I not Saint Praxed's ear to pray And if ye find . . . Ah God, I know not, Horses for ye, and brown Greek manuI!...
scripts, Bedded in store of rotten fig-leaves soft, And mistresses with great smooth marbly And corded up in a tight olive-frail,
limbs? Some lump, ah God, of lapis lazuli, - That's if ye carve my epitaph aright. Big as a Jew's head cut off at the nape, Choice Latin, picked phrase, Tully's Blue as a vein o'er the Madonna's breast.
every word, Sons, all have I bequeathed you, villas, No gaudy ware like Gandolf's second all,
line That brave Frascati villa with its bath, Tully, my masters? Ulpian serves his So, let the blue lump poise between my
And then how I shall lie through centuries, Like God the Father's globe on both his And hear the blessed mutter of the mass, hands
And see God made and eaten all day long, Ye worship in the Jesu Church so gay, And feel the steady candle-flame, and For Gandolf shall not choose but see and
Good strong thick stupefying incenseSwift as a weaver's shuttle fleet our years :
smoke! Man goeth to the grave, and where is he? For as I lie here, hours of the dead night, Did I say basalt for my slab, sons? Dying in state and by such slow degrees, Black
I fold my arms as if they clasped a crook, 'Twas ever antique-black I meant ! How And stretch my feet forth straight as else
stone can point, Shall ye contrast my frieze to come be- And let the bedclothes, for a mortcloth, neath?
drop The bas-relief in bronze ye promised me. Into great laps and folds of sculptor'sThose Pans and Nymphs ye wot of, and
And as yon tapers dwindle, and strange Some tripod, thyrsus, with a vase or so,
thoughts The Saviour at his sermon on the mount, Grow, with a certain humming in my ears, Saint Praxed in a glory, and one Pan About the life before I lived this life, Ready to twitch the Nymph's last gar- And this life too, popes, cardinals, and ment off,
priests, And Moses with the tables ... but I Saint Praxed at his sermon on the mount, know
Your tall pale mother with her talking Ye mark me not! What do they whisper
And new-found agate urns as fresh as Child of my bowels, Anselm? Ah, ye hope day,
- ye wish it
And marble's language, Latin pure, dis- Thou return with the joyful assurance creet,
the King liveth yet, Aha, ELUCESCEBAT quoth our friend? Shall our lip with the honey be bright, No Tully, said I, Ulpian at the best!
with the water be wet. Evil and brief hath been my pilgrimage. For out of the black mid-tent's silence, All lapis, all, sons! Else I give the Pope I
a space of three days, My villas! Will ye ever eat my heart? Not a sound hath escaped to thy servEver your eyes were as a lizard's quick,
ants, of prayer nor of praise, They glitter like your mother's for my To betoken that Saul and the Spirit have soul,
ended their strife, Or ye would heighten my impoverished And that, faint in his triumph, the monfrieze,
arch sinks back upon life. Piece out its starved design, and fill my
II With grapes, and add a visor and a Term, And to the tripod ye would tie a lynx “Yet now my heart leaps, O beloved ! That in his struggle throws the thyrsus
God's child with his dew down,
On thy gracious gold hair, and those To comfort me on my entablature
lilies still living and blue Whereon I am to lie till I must ask
Just broken to twine round thy harp“Do I live, am I dead?” There, leave strings, as if no wild heat
Were now raging to torture the desert !” For ye have stabbed me with ingratitude To death God, ye wish
III it! Stone Gritstone, a-crumble! Clammy squares
Then I, as was meet, which sweat
Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and As if the corpse they keep were oozing rose on my feet, through —
And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. And no more lapis to delight the world !
The tent was unlooped; Well, go! I bless ye. Fewer tapers there, I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and But in a row: and, going, turn your
under I stooped ; backs
Hands and knees on the slippery grass- Ay, like departing altar-ministrants,
patch, all withered and gone, And leave me in my church, the church That extends to the second enclosure, I
groped my way on That I may watch at leisure if he leers Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Old Gandolf at me, from his onion
Then once more I prayed, stone,
And opened the foldskirts and entered, As still he envied me, so fair she was !
and was not afraid
But spoke, “Here is David, thy servSAUL
ant!” And no voice replied. At the first I saw naught but the black
ness: but soon descried Said Abner, “At last thou art come! Ere A something more black than the blackI tell, ere thou speak,
ness — the vast, the upright Kiss my cheek, wish me well!” Then I Main prop which sustains the pavilion : wished it, and did kiss his cheek.
and slow into sight And he: “Since the King, O my friend, Grew a figure against it, gigantic and for thy countenance sent,
blackest of all. Neither drunken nor eaten have we; nor Then a sunbeam, that burst through the until from his tent
tent-roof, showed Saul.