Those Evening Bells "O, Nanny, Wilt Thou Gang wi' Me?" "Hear the Sledges with the Bells" Foreign Lands and English Homes 9 16 20 26 29 38 43 58 68 71 80 88 108 . 115 IT THE BRIDES OF VENICE. T was St, Mary's Eve, and all poured forth As to some grand solemnity. The fisher Came from his islet, bringing o'er the waves His wife and little ones; the husbandman From the firm land, along the Po, the Brenta, In his white turban, and the cozening Jew, At noon a distant murmur through the crowd, The precious caskets that within contained A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath, Before the church, They join, they enter in, and, up the aisle Led by the full-voiced choir in bright procession, Range round the altar. In his vestments there The patriarch stands: and, while the anthem flows, Who can look on unmoved?-mothers in secret Rejoicing in the beauty of their daughters, Sons in the thought of making them their own; And they-arrayed in youth and innocence, Their beauty heightened by their hopes and fears. At length the rite is ending. All fall down In earnest prayer, all of all ranks together; And, stretching out his hands, the holy man Proceeds to give the general benediction ; When hark, a din of voices from without, And shrieks and groans and outcries as in battle! And lo, the door is burst, the curtain rent, And armed ruffians, robbers from the deep, Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbarigo, And his six brothers in their coats of steel, Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like, Awhile they gaze on the fallen multitude, Each with his sabre up, in act to strike; Then, as at once recovering from the spell, Rush forward to the altar, and as soon Are gone again-amid no clash of arms Bearing away the maidens and the treasures. Where are they now?-ploughing the distant waves, Their sails all set, and they upon the deck Now might you see the matrons running wild Along the beach; the men half armed and arming, One with a shield, one with a casque and spear; Each having sworn, and by the holy rood, And from the tower The watchman gives the signal. In the east Her flag St. Mark's. And now she turns the point, Ha, 'tis the same, 'tis theirs! From stern to prow Hung with green boughs, she comes--she comes, restoring All that was lost. Coasting, with narrow search, Friuli-like a tiger in his spring They had surprised the corsairs where they lay And casting lots-had slain them, one and all, Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long Thus were the Brides Lost and recovered; and what now remained But to give thanks? Twelve breast-plates and twelve crowns, Flaming with gems and gold, the votive offerings |