Song and Story :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE SINGING OF LUIGI.

Venice, a. d. 1430.

For Luigi, Duke Foscari's high-born page,
The great court-ladies burned with tender rage.

But he, dark-clad, a shape of perfect mould,
With hair bushed outward, like a mist of gold,

Passed on, indifferent to their dainty grace,
Lowering unmoved his pale poetic face.

Yet sometimes, when the luminous lagoons
Drowsed in the mild Venetian afternoons,

The ducal gondola, brocaded fair,
Went slipping from the white palatial stair,

And ringed with dames and nobles, pensive, mute,
Young star-eyed Luigi leaned upon his lute.

Then some one, as the rich bark stole along,
Would plead with this grave minstrel for a song.

And he, from reverie lured by such request,
Would muse a moment ere he acquiesced.

Then soon his voice would soar with golden ease
Above imperial porch and sculptured frieze.

From many a lattice eager heads would peer;
The oars were stayed by many a gondolier.

To hark the enchanting strains of this rare boy,
Half silver-streeted Venice paused with joy.

Through every tone sped passion's vibrant fire;
In each bold cadence throbbed ideal desire.

Here pangs of grief that words had found too strong,
Failing in words, failed sweetlier still in song;

Despair transcending speech here sought in vain
The melody to immortalize its pain;

And thus from passion, grief, desire, despair,
A wondrous eloquence floated into air,

So wild, so keen, so plaintive, so profound,
'T was anguish, yearning, love, though still 't was sound! ...

For Luigi long had felt his bosom glow
Toward Lisa Nani, named the Maid of Snow.

She, born from lineage of princely note,
With amber tresses and pure swan-like throat,

Wandered her palace on Giudecca's tide,
Careless of suitors in her lonely pride.

But when the songs of Luigi met her ear,
Listening as one deep-stirred by secret fear,

Behind the tapestries that hid her form
The cold maid trembled and her cheek grew warm.

And now, one evening, it befell at last,
That while the boat of Luigi glided past,

And while he made, with all accustomed zeal,
His lovely spirituality of appeal,

Quick from the armorial window of her bower
Lisa bent down and cast to him a flower ...

That night, bewildered by the bliss he felt,
Within a lordly chamber Luigi knelt.

The two chaste hands that Lisa let him take
Fluttered like lilies on a windy lake.

The statue breathed; no longer calm and proud,
The goddess had descended from her cloud!

And kneeling thus, half doubtful if he dreamed,
To Luigi, in that sacred tryst, it seemed

That Fortune from her weird wheel sent the sound
Of marvellous music while she whirled it round!

[OMITTED]

Tedious the brief betrothal proved for both,
Ere the glad lovers took their marriage-oath.

With twenty gondolas for escort gay,
To San Giovanni's church they sailed away.

Here, in the holy gloom about them shed,
With stately ceremonial they were wed.

And when the bridal band, to mirth released,
Fared lightly homeward for the nuptial-feast,

A full moon, wrapt with wan haze like a robe,
Poised in the early dusk her ghostly globe.

And then to Luigi, seated near his bride,
Looking as one whom joy has deified,

The courtiers called, in many a merry row:
“Sing for us, Luigi,—sing, carissimo!”

And from vague balconies or casements high,
A watchful multitude caught up the cry,

Re-echoing it, in manner loud or low,
“Sing for us, Luigi,—sing, carissimo!”

Then Luigi, as the flattering summons rang,
Looked in the face of his dear bride, and sang.

Once more upon the city, like a thrall,
Delicious expectation seemed to fall.

The breeze of night seemed lingering in the sky;
Slower the wide canal seemed loitering by.

Below each bank in still more sombre mood
Its dull reduplication seemed to brood. ...

So Luigi sang, and all the twilight dim
As though in reverent heed encompassed him.

But while his fine clear singing heavenward went,
In many a mind it woke bewilderment.

Here throve the old brilliant art, unhurt by change,
The delicate energy, the ample range,

The unstudied skill, the facile rise and fall,
The power, the euphony, the freshness—all!

And yet what nameless magic had dispelled
The inspiring soul these harmonies once held?

Where was the beautiful entreaty flung
At tyrant fate from the deep heart it wrung?

Where the choice genius that made song expand
With agony, with rebellion, with demand? ...

From lip to lip the murmured comment flew;
At melancholy speed the amazement grew.

Then, like a skyward bird that droops its wing,
Luigi's ascendant voice forbore to sing.

The goal was reached; the attempted height was gained;
Struggle had vanquished; effort had attained.

All storms of suffering that once filled his breast
Had yielded to serenity of rest.

Sharp was the misery, in that former time,
Which made his piercing threnody sublime.

Tumultuous longing, fervid sense of wrong,
Had shaped the angelic pathos of the song.

And now its piteous ardor, its fond strife,
Ceased when the woe ceased that had lent them life! ...

In Luigi's heart a furtive whisper said:
“The singer yet lives on,—the song is dead!”

Silent he sat, and gazed in Lisa's eyes,
Where sympathy was blended with surprise,

And where the unshed tears that obscured her sight
Had filmed their shadowy blue with wistful light.

Then soft she gave the answer love should give:
“Let the song die, if still the singer live!”

[OMITTED]

Again the bridal band, to mirth released,
Fared lightly homeward for the nuptial-feast.

And this bright wedding, as years onward went,
Proved the sweet prelude of untold content.

But from that hour till his last hour was o'er,
Luigi, the lord of Lisa, sang no more!