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115

IN VENICE.

O'er the waves gliding sings our gondolier,—
Moonrise, high midnight, and the voice of song!
Never again, never again, O Queen
Of waters, may my feet the wide sea cross
That laves thy marble shores. ... Take my farewell.
To-morrow's sun must light the pilgrim onward,
For his home is in the West, that far-off land
Thy youth had never known.
What sings he now
Who guides this phantom bark to meet the moon!

116

'T is a brave chant of Bucentaur and Love,
Older than Tasso, or the Genoese
Who left his birthplace for the new-found isles.
The maids of Venice sang it to their lutes,
When Doges listened in Ausonia's prime!
Turn the prow homeward, for the day-light hour
Stands waiting in the East. The night is ended,
And I must be gone.