The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey :: :: University of Virginia Library

He stood before the Signori,
With a truthful look and bold,
A look of calm simplicity,
That fisherman poor and old;
Though every face, with a gathering frown
And a searching glance, looked darkly down
While his wonderful tale he told.

II.

And though a voice from—he knew not where
(For none beside him stood),
Breathed in his very ear “Beware!”
In a tone might have froze his blood,
He but crossed himself as he glanced around,
But faltered neither for sight nor sound,
For he knew that his cause was good.

III.

“I tell the truth—I tell no lie,”
Old Gian Battista said;
“But hear me out, and patiently,
Signori wise and dread;
And if I fail sure proof to bring
How I came by this golden ring”
(He held it high, that all might see),
“There are the cells and the Piombi—
Or—off with this old grey head.

224

IV.

“Ye know—all know—what fearful work
The winds and waves have driven
These three days past. That darkness murk
So shrouded earth and heaven,
We scarce could tell if sun or moon
Looked down on island or lagune,
Or if 'twere midnight or high noon;
And yells and shrieks were in the air,
As if with spirits in despair
The very fiends had striven.

V.

“And busy, sure enough, were they,
As soon ye'll understand;
Many believed the doomful day
Of Venice was at hand:
For high o'er every level known,
The rising flood came crashing on,
Till not a sea-mark old was seen,
Nor of the striplet islets green
A speck of hard, dry sand.

VI.

“‘Well, Gian and his old boat,’ quoth I,
‘Together must sink or swim.
They've both seen service out wellnigh,
Half foundered, plank and limb;
But good San Marco, if he will,
Can save his own fair city still.
I put my trust in him.’

225

VII.

“So—for the night was closing o'er—
San Marco's Riva by,
I thought my little boat to moor,
And lie down patiently
To sleep, or watch, as best I might,
Telling my beads till morning light—
I scarce could see to make all tight,
Night fell so suddenly.

VIII.

“While I still fumbled, stooping low,
A voice hailed close at hand.
I started to my feet, and lo!
Hard by, upon the strand,
Stood one in close-cowled garments white,
Who seemed by that uncertain light,
Methought, an holy Carmelite,
Slow beckoning with the hand.

IX.

“Before, in answer to the call,
I'd cleared my husky throat,
Down leapt that stately form and tall
Into my crazy boat—
A weight to crush it through. But no,
He came down light as feathered snow,
As soundless; and, composedly
Taking his seat, ‘My son,’ said he,
‘Unmoor and get afloat.’

X.

“‘Corpo di Bacco! get afloat
In such a storm!’ quoth I,

226

‘Just as I'm mooring my old boat
Here snug all night to lie.
And, Padre, might I make so free,
What service would you have of me?’
‘First to San Giorgio,’ answered he,
‘Row swift and steadily;

XI.

“And fear thou not; for a strong arm
Will be with thee,’ he said,
‘And not a hair shall come to harm,
This night, of thy grey head.
And guerdon great shall be thy meed,
If faithful thou art found at need.’
‘Well, good San Marco be my guide,’
Quoth I, and my old boat untied;
‘I've little cause for dread:

XII.

“Nothing to lose but my old life,—
So for San Giorgio!—hey!’
Never again so mad a strife
Unto my dying day
Shall I e'er wage with wind and sea;
And yet we danced on merrily:
Now cleaving deep the briny grave,
Now breasting high the foamy wave,
Like waterfowl at play.

XIII.

“How we spun on! 'Tis true I plied
That night a lusty oar;
But such a wind and such a tide
Down full upon us bore!

227

And yet—in marvellous little space
We reached San Giorgio's landing-place.
‘Well so far,’ said my ghostly fare,
And bidding me await him there,
Rose up, and sprang ashore.

XIV.

“And in a moment he was gone,
Lost in the dark profound;
Nor, as my oars I lay upon,
Heard I a footfall sound
Going or coming; and yet twain
Stood there when the voice hailed again,
And, starting, I looked round.

XV.

“Down stept they both into the boat—
‘And now, my son,’ said he
Whom first I took—‘once more afloat,
Row fast and fearlessly;
And for San Nicolo make straight.’
‘Nay, nay,’ quoth I—‘'tis tempting fate;’
But he o'erruled me, as of late,
And—splash!—away went we.

XVI.

“Away, away—through foam and flood!
‘Rare work this same!’ thought I,
‘Yet, faith, right merrily we scud;
A stouter oar I ply,
Methinks, than thirty years ago.
The Carmelite keeps faith, I trow—
Hurra, then, for San Nicolo!
We're a holy crew surely!’

228

XVII.

“Thus half in jest, half seriously,
Unto myself I said,
Looking askance at my company.
But our second trip was sped;
And there, on the marge of the sea-washed strand,
Did another ghostly figure stand,
And down into the boat stept he.
I crossed myself right fervently,
With a sense of creeping dread.

XVIII.

“But the Carmelite—(I call him so,
As he seemed at first to me)—
Said, ‘Now, my son, for the Castles row!
Great things thou soon shalt see.’
Without a word, at his bidding now
For the Lido Strait I turned my prow,
And took to my oar with a thoughtful brow,
And pulled on silently.

XIX.

“When to the Lido pass we came,
Cospetto! what a sight!
Air, sky, and sea seemed all on flame,
And by that lurid light
I saw a ship come sailing in
Like a ship of hell, and a fiendish din
From the fiendish crew on her deck rose high,
And ‘Ho! ho! ho!’ was the cursed cry—
‘Venice is doomed to-night!’

229

XX.

“Then in my little boat, the three,
With each a stretched-out hand,
Stood up;—and that sign, made silently,
Was one of high command.
For in a moment, over all,
Thick darkness dropt, as 'twere a pall;
And the winds and waves sank down to sleep,
Though the muttering thunder, low and deep,
Ran round from strand to strand.

XXI.

“As it died away, the murky veil,
Like a curtain, aside was drawn;
And lo! on the sea lay the moonlight pale,
And the demon-ship was gone.
The moonlight lay on the glassy sea,
And the bright stars twinkled merrily,
Where the rippling tide rolled on.

XXII.

“‘Well done, well done, so far, my son!’
Said the first of the ghostly three.
‘Thy good night's work is wellnigh done,
And the rich reward to be:
Put back, and, as we homeward row,
Land these my brethren dear; whom know
For San Giorgio and San Nicolo—
Thou shalt afterwards know me.’

XXIII.

“‘And doubtless,’ to myself I said,
‘For the greatest of the three:’

230

But I spoke not; only bowed my head,
Obeying reverently:
And pulling back, with heart elate,
Landed as bidden my saintly freight.
That ever, old boat, it should be thy fate,
To have held such company!

XXIV.

“The voyage was done; the Riva won,
From whence we put to sea.
‘And now, my son,’ said the mighty one,
‘Once more attend to me.
Present thee with the coming day
Before the Signori, and say,
That I, San Marco, sent thee there,
The great deliverance to declare,
This night wrought gloriously.

XXV.

“What thou hast heard and seen this night
With fearless speech unfold:
And thy good service to requite,
I will to thee be told
Five hundred ducats!’ ‘Holy saint!’
I meekly asked, with due restraint,
‘Will they believe what I shall say,
And count, on his bare word, such pay
To the fisherman poor and old?’

XXVI.

“‘This token give to them,’ said he;
And from his finger drew
The ring, most noble Signori,
I here present to you.

231

‘Let search in my treasury be made,
'Twill be found missing there,’ he said,
So vanished from my view!”

XXVII.

There ran a whispering murmur round,
As Gian closed his tale;
And some, still unbelieving, frowned,
And some with awe grew pale.
Then all, as with one voice cried out,
“Why sit we here in aimless doubt,
The means and place of proof so nigh?
One glance at the holy treasury
All words will countervail.”

XXVIII.

Led by the Doge Gradenigo,
Set forth the solemn train,
Through arch and column winding slow,
Till the great church door they gain.
With them the fisherman was led,
Guarded by two; but his old head
He held up high:—“For sure,” said he,
“San Marco will keep faith with me,
And prove his own words plain.”

XXIX.

The Proveditore stept on first,
With high authority;
And at his word, wide open burst
The saintly treasury;
And holy monks, with signs devout,
Held high the blessed relics out,

232

And gifts of emperors and kings,
Priceless, inestimable things,
Displayed triumphantly.

XXX.

Familiar as their beads to them—
So oft recounted o'er
Each history—was relic, gem,
And all the sacred store.
But now—“What know ye of this thing?”
The Doge said, holding forth the ring;
“Have ye seen its like before?”

XXXI.

Short scrutiny sufficed. “Full well
That ring we know,” said they.
“But if taken hence by miracle,
Or how, we cannot say.
'Tis the same this blessed image wore,
San Marco's self.” All doubt was o'er.
“Viva San Marco evermore!”
Was the deafening roar that day.

XXXII.

What throat than Gian's louder strained
The exulting sound to swell?
And when the ducats, fairly gained,
Into his cap they tell,
With promise for San Marco's sake
Like sum a yearly dole to make:
“Viva San Marco!” shouted he;
“Who would not row in such company
Against all the fiends in hell?”