The In-Gathering Cimon and Pero: A Chain of Sonnets: Sebastopol etc. By John A. Heraud |
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| THE BRIDES OF VENICE. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | The In-Gathering |  |
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THE BRIDES OF VENICE.
[_]
The event described in this poem occurred on the 1st of February, in the year 944, under the reign of the great Doge Canadian, or Candiano, III. Authorities, however, differ as to the exact date.
I.
The Ocean-waves in the Sunlight laugh;
As in the ancient time, when they
Had smiled Prometheus' woes away,
Woes suffered for Man, redeemed but half,
Which made their laughter mockery seem—
And hark ye, now, to the Sea-birds' scream!
Thus ever they scream, and flap the wing;
'Tis thus they sport, 'tis thus they sing;
A music wild, perchance uncouth,
Yet cheering to such as rejoice in youth,
Though on the ear of the old it fall,
Like a wild dirge shrieked at a funeral.
—And there are men as wild as they,
Who shout to them with voice as rude,
Amid the great seas' solitude,
And riot in their genial play—
And such a man was Ali Bey.
As in the ancient time, when they
Had smiled Prometheus' woes away,
Woes suffered for Man, redeemed but half,
Which made their laughter mockery seem—
And hark ye, now, to the Sea-birds' scream!
Thus ever they scream, and flap the wing;
'Tis thus they sport, 'tis thus they sing;
A music wild, perchance uncouth,
Yet cheering to such as rejoice in youth,
Though on the ear of the old it fall,
Like a wild dirge shrieked at a funeral.
—And there are men as wild as they,
Who shout to them with voice as rude,
Amid the great seas' solitude,
And riot in their genial play—
And such a man was Ali Bey.
By Moonlight, now, those billows float,
Around a pleasant Isle remote,
And near it lurks a Pirate boat.
And on its deck, see Ali stand,
The first in stature and command;
A Prince amid that Corsair band.
Around a pleasant Isle remote,
And near it lurks a Pirate boat.
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The first in stature and command;
A Prince amid that Corsair band.
Late at his power was struck a blow
By the old and valiant Dandolo,
Who met but to subdue his foe;
By the old and valiant Dandolo,
Who met but to subdue his foe;
Warrior more brave ne'er Venice had,
And virgin hearts in her were glad;
But the brain of Ali Bey grew mad
And virgin hearts in her were glad;
But the brain of Ali Bey grew mad
With the shame of defeat, whenever to thought
The name of old Dandolo back was brought,
And brooded on vengeance—not otherwise taught.
The name of old Dandolo back was brought,
And brooded on vengeance—not otherwise taught.
To-morrow morn the destined day
Of Vengeance brings to Ali Bey—
And this the destined spot, where he
Shall spite the Consort of the Sea,
The haughty Ocean-Cybelé,
Venice, the Mother of the Free.
Down from the sky, in the shadow of night,
Descends on the sea a sea of light,
Reflected in the waters blue;
A vision of beauty to me or to you—
But Ali Bey marked nothing of this:
No beauty e'er softened that heart of his—
The waves and the stars were things of use,
He cared not for their tones or hues;
They shone on his path and his bark they upbare;
For the rest, he rejoiced in the ocean and air,
And couched on his deck, like a beast in his lair,
Awaiting his prey, by that Islet fair,
That, on the bosom of the deep,
Lay like a Nautilus asleep.
Of Vengeance brings to Ali Bey—
And this the destined spot, where he
Shall spite the Consort of the Sea,
The haughty Ocean-Cybelé,
Venice, the Mother of the Free.
Down from the sky, in the shadow of night,
Descends on the sea a sea of light,
Reflected in the waters blue;
A vision of beauty to me or to you—
But Ali Bey marked nothing of this:
No beauty e'er softened that heart of his—
The waves and the stars were things of use,
He cared not for their tones or hues;
They shone on his path and his bark they upbare;
For the rest, he rejoiced in the ocean and air,
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Awaiting his prey, by that Islet fair,
That, on the bosom of the deep,
Lay like a Nautilus asleep.
Thus sleep thou on, till the morning dawn;
Thetide that ebbs again must flow;
And be Night's curtains closer drawn,
Around thy groves, Olivolo!
Thetide that ebbs again must flow;
And be Night's curtains closer drawn,
Around thy groves, Olivolo!
II.
In Venice there is a custom old,
That Men and Maids betrothed each year,
To wed upon St. Mary's eve,
Should write their names in a Book of Gold,
Should at a public rite appear,
Should dowry from the State receive,
And hold a Marriage festival,
With pomp and ceremoniäl.
That Men and Maids betrothed each year,
To wed upon St. Mary's eve,
Should write their names in a Book of Gold,
Should at a public rite appear,
Should dowry from the State receive,
And hold a Marriage festival,
With pomp and ceremoniäl.
In proud procession to the shrine,
By Hymen rendered more divine,
Twice six patrician Brides are led:
The Doge himself is at their head.
Follow on that richer band,
Each with the Arcella in her hand,
And worthy of a worthier fate,
The poorer Daughters of the State,
In simpler guise, with humbler mien;
And, these among, may now be seen
A Maiden fair—the fairest there;
With brow and cheeks so pale and clear,
No princely forehead polishèd
With more of white and less of red;
Fair as the new-created light,
That most immaculate pure white,
While the roseate mixtures in her cheek
The lily's innocence but o'erstreak.
And then her lips so rich of hue
Seemed bathed in twilight and in dew,
So sweet the smile on them that slept.
Apart, and slightly open kept,
A pearly gateway they disclose
Into a palace-court of rose,
That led into a honey-bower,
Where lived the Heart—a fragrant power,
That sent from out its living cells
Into her eyes (those oracles,)
Sweet glances and poetic spells;
Gleaming like Pity's through a tear,
And softened by that crystal sphere.
By Hymen rendered more divine,
Twice six patrician Brides are led:
The Doge himself is at their head.
Follow on that richer band,
Each with the Arcella in her hand,
And worthy of a worthier fate,
The poorer Daughters of the State,
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And, these among, may now be seen
A Maiden fair—the fairest there;
With brow and cheeks so pale and clear,
No princely forehead polishèd
With more of white and less of red;
Fair as the new-created light,
That most immaculate pure white,
While the roseate mixtures in her cheek
The lily's innocence but o'erstreak.
And then her lips so rich of hue
Seemed bathed in twilight and in dew,
So sweet the smile on them that slept.
Apart, and slightly open kept,
A pearly gateway they disclose
Into a palace-court of rose,
That led into a honey-bower,
Where lived the Heart—a fragrant power,
That sent from out its living cells
Into her eyes (those oracles,)
Sweet glances and poetic spells;
Gleaming like Pity's through a tear,
And softened by that crystal sphere.
The Maiden's name you fain would know?—
Pia Da Berre; Even so,
'Twas written in the Golden Book,
With his by whom she was beloved.
—This day last year, as it behoved,
Young Andrea dé Capelli took
Her hand in his, while witnessing
The bridal rites, and placed a ring
Upon her finger tenderly;
A pledge that, on this day and year,
Even at the festival now here,
Both at the Altar would appear,
And wed each other faithfully.
Pia Da Berre; Even so,
'Twas written in the Golden Book,
With his by whom she was beloved.
—This day last year, as it behoved,
Young Andrea dé Capelli took
Her hand in his, while witnessing
The bridal rites, and placed a ring
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A pledge that, on this day and year,
Even at the festival now here,
Both at the Altar would appear,
And wed each other faithfully.
And what was he? An Artizan,
Whom toil but made the more a man;
An honest earnest soul sincere,
An independent spirit true,
Whose mind was as a mirror clear,
And from the world no shadow knew,
Undimmed, unclouded, and reflecting
All images without dissecting—
A large pure mind, and full of light,
By Heaven itself informed aright;
A conscience open like the ocean,
And constant in its healthful motion,
Moved by the Spirit-love within,
Like the Celestial Hyaline.
Whom toil but made the more a man;
An honest earnest soul sincere,
An independent spirit true,
Whose mind was as a mirror clear,
And from the world no shadow knew,
Undimmed, unclouded, and reflecting
All images without dissecting—
A large pure mind, and full of light,
By Heaven itself informed aright;
A conscience open like the ocean,
And constant in its healthful motion,
Moved by the Spirit-love within,
Like the Celestial Hyaline.
Upon the isle, Olivolo;
Two by two, in mute array,
Veiled and crowned, their solemn way,
A gorgeous group, the Brides move on:
With them also—the Brides'-maids go;
All, like Graces, on them tending,
And to St. Mary's Church are wending,
Upon the isle, Olivolo.
Not unobserved by Ali Bey—
Lo, now they enter the Portico,
And after them the crowds have gone,
Upon the isle, Olivolo.
Anon, before the Altar they stood;
Gazed on by a great multitude.—
Two by two, in mute array,
Veiled and crowned, their solemn way,
A gorgeous group, the Brides move on:
With them also—the Brides'-maids go;
All, like Graces, on them tending,
And to St. Mary's Church are wending,
Upon the isle, Olivolo.
Not unobserved by Ali Bey—
Lo, now they enter the Portico,
And after them the crowds have gone,
Upon the isle, Olivolo.
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Gazed on by a great multitude.—
Then Ali Bey by Allah swore—
“Ha! while they list the Mass,” said he,
“Prepare our needful craft may we,
And altogether ready be,
To make our vengeance swift and sure,
When they return by that Portico—
Ho! for the isle, Olivolo!”
“Ha! while they list the Mass,” said he,
“Prepare our needful craft may we,
And altogether ready be,
To make our vengeance swift and sure,
When they return by that Portico—
Ho! for the isle, Olivolo!”
So Ali Bey put out to sea,
Proud on his pirate deck stood he—
And to the wind his pennon spread,
A signal to those outlaws brave,
Who swept the Adriatic wave
And by his rule had long been led.
Forthwith from corner and from creek,
Came galley and galliot erst concealed;
Their wrongs on Venice now to wreak:
The Hour of Vengeance is revealed!
Proud on his pirate deck stood he—
And to the wind his pennon spread,
A signal to those outlaws brave,
Who swept the Adriatic wave
And by his rule had long been led.
Forthwith from corner and from creek,
Came galley and galliot erst concealed;
Their wrongs on Venice now to wreak:
The Hour of Vengeance is revealed!
III.
The Mass is said, the rite well o'er,
The shriven Brides are light of heart;
Religion and Love were twins of yore,
And never since have been known to part.
Yes, light of heart each merry bride;
Devotion her thoughts had purified,
And tranquilly as befits the good,
She mused on her lover in that blest mood,
Indulged by Faith, when with Hope sustained,
And inspired with Love, by trial unpained,
That virgin love, which, yet an ideal,
Has suffered no contact with the real.
O maiden Brides; half sad your smile,
Half playful by fits, as the shrine each quits,
To wander awhile, 'midst the temple aisle;
Then issues again, unbanded and free,
And looks once more on the treacherous sea.
The shriven Brides are light of heart;
Religion and Love were twins of yore,
And never since have been known to part.
Yes, light of heart each merry bride;
Devotion her thoughts had purified,
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She mused on her lover in that blest mood,
Indulged by Faith, when with Hope sustained,
And inspired with Love, by trial unpained,
That virgin love, which, yet an ideal,
Has suffered no contact with the real.
O maiden Brides; half sad your smile,
Half playful by fits, as the shrine each quits,
To wander awhile, 'midst the temple aisle;
Then issues again, unbanded and free,
And looks once more on the treacherous sea.
What murmur was that, as of hornets humming?
Ah! 'tis not the sound of your Bridegrooms' coming.
Yon vessel lies on the water's edge—
But to Hate, not to Love, a votive pledge.
Right-suddenly redeemed 'twill be.
Ah, flee—ye bridal maidens—flee!
A Sabine rape awaits your charms!
Even now each is clasped in a pirate's arms!
'Twas the work of a moment. A tremor of wonder,
The virgins are borne with the might of the thunder,
Down the steps that lead from that Portico,
To a Boat by the sea-brink waiting below.
Almost or ever the victim may shriek,
Or the pallor of fear overspread her cheek,
She is hurried aboard, and disposed on the deck.
Vain the crown on her brow, or the gaud on her neck.
The greater is the renegade's pride,
Who thus hath won patrician bride.
But patrician or pleb it is much the same,
Each corsair has clasped a Venetian dame,
In galliot and galley soon well bestowed.
The barks skim along on their watery road,
With sail and with pennon triumphantly swelling,
While the wail of the brides to the sea-wind is telling
The tale of despair, the wild farewell
To father, and brother, and lover and friend,
That over the waters still rose and fell.
What madness and hope in its cadence blend!
But faint and more faint now it comes on the gale—
That chorus of terror—that desolate wail!
Ah! 'tis not the sound of your Bridegrooms' coming.
Yon vessel lies on the water's edge—
But to Hate, not to Love, a votive pledge.
Right-suddenly redeemed 'twill be.
Ah, flee—ye bridal maidens—flee!
A Sabine rape awaits your charms!
Even now each is clasped in a pirate's arms!
'Twas the work of a moment. A tremor of wonder,
The virgins are borne with the might of the thunder,
Down the steps that lead from that Portico,
To a Boat by the sea-brink waiting below.
Almost or ever the victim may shriek,
Or the pallor of fear overspread her cheek,
She is hurried aboard, and disposed on the deck.
Vain the crown on her brow, or the gaud on her neck.
The greater is the renegade's pride,
Who thus hath won patrician bride.
But patrician or pleb it is much the same,
Each corsair has clasped a Venetian dame,
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The barks skim along on their watery road,
With sail and with pennon triumphantly swelling,
While the wail of the brides to the sea-wind is telling
The tale of despair, the wild farewell
To father, and brother, and lover and friend,
That over the waters still rose and fell.
What madness and hope in its cadence blend!
But faint and more faint now it comes on the gale—
That chorus of terror—that desolate wail!
But that wail has entered Pity's ear.
Crowds on the Temple's steps have gathered:
Priests, and statesmen, assemble there,
With him by whom the State is fathered.
True as to time the horologe,
To Venice her first Citizen,
Canadian's self, the mighty Doge;
One hurried glance he gave, and then
Conferred at once with a Council of Ten.
Commands are given, and to and fro
On errands strange his missives go.
In thy tower, St. Mark, lo, the lion-bell swings;
The tocsin of peril aloud out-rings,
And the citadel isles, afar and anear,
Respond anon, as the sound they hear,
That awful alarum to courage and fear.
Crowds on the Temple's steps have gathered:
Priests, and statesmen, assemble there,
With him by whom the State is fathered.
True as to time the horologe,
To Venice her first Citizen,
Canadian's self, the mighty Doge;
One hurried glance he gave, and then
Conferred at once with a Council of Ten.
Commands are given, and to and fro
On errands strange his missives go.
In thy tower, St. Mark, lo, the lion-bell swings;
The tocsin of peril aloud out-rings,
And the citadel isles, afar and anear,
Respond anon, as the sound they hear,
That awful alarum to courage and fear.
The Bridegrooms have heard, and faster row,
To reach the isle, Olivolo.
Their hearts are with their treasures there;
An instant, their boats to inland bear.
Them saw the Doge from the shore; nor stirred,
Till into the first himself he threw;
And “follow! follow!” was the word,
That from his lips like lightning flew.
To reach the isle, Olivolo.
Their hearts are with their treasures there;
An instant, their boats to inland bear.
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Till into the first himself he threw;
And “follow! follow!” was the word,
That from his lips like lightning flew.
Then shouted Andrea: “Tell me, say—
Pia, my bride! have they borne her away?”
“All—all; none is left; all are gone!”—they replied—
“O, shame to our manhood!” then Andrea cried,
“O, shame to our Venice! if this may be,
That thus the savage enslave the free!
O, craftsmen—now show ye have hearts in your breasts,
Or aye vail your bonnets to nobler crests—
Win back your brides, or bravely fall!
Give us arms!” They are given. “Now follow me, all!”
Pia, my bride! have they borne her away?”
“All—all; none is left; all are gone!”—they replied—
“O, shame to our manhood!” then Andrea cried,
“O, shame to our Venice! if this may be,
That thus the savage enslave the free!
O, craftsmen—now show ye have hearts in your breasts,
Or aye vail your bonnets to nobler crests—
Win back your brides, or bravely fall!
Give us arms!” They are given. “Now follow me, all!”
From man to man the spell-word ran;
It was thus the pirate chase began.
It was thus the pirate chase began.
IV.
All Venice is afloat, this day;
The pirates make for Istriä.
Afar off seen by the Lovers incensed:
'Twixt these and those the race commenced.
But not alone 'twixt these and those:
One lives 'tween friends as well as foes.
The pirates make for Istriä.
Afar off seen by the Lovers incensed:
'Twixt these and those the race commenced.
But not alone 'twixt these and those:
One lives 'tween friends as well as foes.
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The Dandoli, the Foscoli,
The Conte and Cornari, vie
With the Capelli family,
And Andrea, its head and eye,
That onward, onward, in the van,
Lead thy free trade and artisan,
O, queenly Venice! in that chase—
Outstripping the patriciän.
Honour to him who wins the race;
Or noble, or craftsman, a crown to the lover,
Who first from the Turk his bride shall recover.
The Conte and Cornari, vie
With the Capelli family,
And Andrea, its head and eye,
That onward, onward, in the van,
Lead thy free trade and artisan,
O, queenly Venice! in that chase—
Outstripping the patriciän.
Honour to him who wins the race;
Or noble, or craftsman, a crown to the lover,
Who first from the Turk his bride shall recover.
The chase, I said, young Andrea led—
Maria Formosa! On thy fair isle,
The Boy and his Bride were born and bred;
There first they welcomed the daylight's smile,
And worshipt the morn and evening-red.
Maria Formosa! the Beautiful
Their souls with these still visited—
O, never dismayed; O, never dull;
Still from the Hours they learned to cull
The flower and fruit—the spirit of joy!
O, happy the youth of the Maid and the Boy.
Maria Formosa! On thy fair isle,
The Boy and his Bride were born and bred;
There first they welcomed the daylight's smile,
And worshipt the morn and evening-red.
Maria Formosa! the Beautiful
Their souls with these still visited—
O, never dismayed; O, never dull;
Still from the Hours they learned to cull
The flower and fruit—the spirit of joy!
O, happy the youth of the Maid and the Boy.
The chase, I said, young Andrea led—
A breeze springs up to favour the chase;
It favours meanwhile the pirate barks—
“The corsairs yet may win the race.
O, crowd the sail—O, ply the oar—
Each sinew be stiffened in death, before
Ye yield the prize to those lawless sharks!
O, craftsmen! one prayer to your patron saint;
Then, to work with vigour that never shall faint,
Till Venice again sit enthroned at her ease,
The empressof the isles and seas.”
A breeze springs up to favour the chase;
It favours meanwhile the pirate barks—
“The corsairs yet may win the race.
O, crowd the sail—O, ply the oar—
Each sinew be stiffened in death, before
Ye yield the prize to those lawless sharks!
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Then, to work with vigour that never shall faint,
Till Venice again sit enthroned at her ease,
The empressof the isles and seas.”
The chase, I said, young Andrea led—
And still his vessel keeps ahead—
And after him the trade-boats sail,
Crowding their canvass to the gale;
But the Patrician barks behind
Woo still in vain the freshening wind,
No thought wastes on them the Artisan:
The thoughts of his bride engross each man;
Of her alone, in this perilous hour,
Crouching in shame to the infidel power,
Her hands clasped in prayer o'er the cross that must now
To the crescent insulting a suppliant bow,
The cross that no longer the captive can save,
In the bark of the ravisher borne over the wave.
“On, craftsmen, on! The foe is before us,
Love burns within us, heaven bends o'er us!”
And still his vessel keeps ahead—
And after him the trade-boats sail,
Crowding their canvass to the gale;
But the Patrician barks behind
Woo still in vain the freshening wind,
No thought wastes on them the Artisan:
The thoughts of his bride engross each man;
Of her alone, in this perilous hour,
Crouching in shame to the infidel power,
Her hands clasped in prayer o'er the cross that must now
To the crescent insulting a suppliant bow,
The cross that no longer the captive can save,
In the bark of the ravisher borne over the wave.
“On, craftsmen, on! The foe is before us,
Love burns within us, heaven bends o'er us!”
The chase, I said, young Andrea led—
And lo, at length before his way,
On speeds the galley of Ali Bey.
“Turn thy prow, thou corsair rude!
See by whom thou art pursued—
Now follow me, each artisan!
The lover should be more than man!”
The pirate-bark presents its prow,
On rush the boats to board it now;
Fierce the strife, but, quick and brief,
Surprised the corsairs and their chief.
And lo, at length before his way,
On speeds the galley of Ali Bey.
“Turn thy prow, thou corsair rude!
See by whom thou art pursued—
Now follow me, each artisan!
The lover should be more than man!”
The pirate-bark presents its prow,
On rush the boats to board it now;
Fierce the strife, but, quick and brief,
Surprised the corsairs and their chief.
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First Andrea trod the startled deck,
And dauntlessly, amidst his crew,
Smote Ali Bey, and instant slew.
He set his foot upon his neck,
And from his shoulders clove his head;
Then, with the avenger's visage dread,
Hailed her who to his side had sprung—
'Twas Pia to his bosom clung!
One arm embraced the Maiden fair,
One held the Pirate's head in air.
—All, at that sight are filled with zeal;
And, fired by that example, feel
The victor's courage:—daring, they
Pursue, and seize, and board, and slay.
—Of all the crew of Ali Bey,
Not one survived that dreadful day.
And dauntlessly, amidst his crew,
Smote Ali Bey, and instant slew.
He set his foot upon his neck,
And from his shoulders clove his head;
Then, with the avenger's visage dread,
Hailed her who to his side had sprung—
'Twas Pia to his bosom clung!
One arm embraced the Maiden fair,
One held the Pirate's head in air.
—All, at that sight are filled with zeal;
And, fired by that example, feel
The victor's courage:—daring, they
Pursue, and seize, and board, and slay.
—Of all the crew of Ali Bey,
Not one survived that dreadful day.
Thy honour, Venice! thus made good,
Each Bridegroom clasped his rescued Bride;
But many a noble, shame subdued,
Or feeling betwixt shame and pride—
Contrasting each artisan pinnace there,
With his own, more rich in glitter and gear.
Trophies of prowess, the conflict done,
Numbered the trade-boats two to one;
—Pirate-heads, that ghastily
Looked from their decks to sea and sky,
And wept in blood that victory.
Each Bridegroom clasped his rescued Bride;
But many a noble, shame subdued,
Or feeling betwixt shame and pride—
Contrasting each artisan pinnace there,
With his own, more rich in glitter and gear.
Trophies of prowess, the conflict done,
Numbered the trade-boats two to one;
—Pirate-heads, that ghastily
Looked from their decks to sea and sky,
And wept in blood that victory.
| The In-Gathering | |