good qualities. How far this is possible the pious reader will determine. Julian is rather serious.
Of the Maniac I can give no information. He seems, by his own account, to have been disappointed in love. He was evidently a very cultivated and amiable person when in his right senses. His story, told at length, might be like many other stories of the same kind : the unconnected exclamations of his agony will perhaps be found a sufficient comment for the text of every heart.
I RODE one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand, Matted with thistles and amphibious weeds, Such as from earth's embrace the salt ooze breeds,
Is this; an uninhabited sea-side,
Which the lone fisher, when his nets are dried, Abandons; and no other object breaks The waste, but one dwarf tree and some few stakes
Broken and unrepaired, and the tide makes A narrow space of level sand thereon,
Where 'twas our wont to ride while day went down.
This ride was my delight. I love all waste And solitary places; where we taste The pleasure of believing what we see Is boundless, as we wish our souls to be: And such was this wide ocean, and this shore More barren than its billows; and yet more Than all, with a remembered friend I love To ride as then I rode ;-for the winds drove The living spray along the sunny air Into our faces; the blue heavens were bare,
Stripped to their depths by the awakening north; And, from the waves, sound like delight broke forth
Harmonizing with solitude, and sent
Into our hearts aërial merriment.
So, as we rode, we talked; and the swift thought,
Winging itself with laughter, lingered not, But flew from brain to brain, such glee was
Charged with light memories of remembered
None slow enough for sadness: till we came Homeward, which always makes the spirit
This day had been cheerful but cold, and now The sun was sinking, and the wind also. Our talk grew somewhat serious, as may be Talk interrupted with such raillery
As mocks itself, because it cannot scorn The thoughts it would extinguish :-'twas forlorn,
Yet pleasing, such as once, so poets tell, The devils held within the dales of Hell1 Concerning God, freewill and destiny: Of all that earth has been or yet may be, All that vain men imagine or believe, Or hope can paint or suffering may achieve, We descanted, and I (for ever still
Is it not wise to make the best of ill?) Argued against despondency, but pride Made my companion take the darker side. The sense that he was greater than his kind 50 Had struck, methinks, his eagle spirit blind By gazing on its own exceeding light.
1 Milton said vales; but Shelley unquestionably wrote dales.-ED.
Meanwhile the sun paused ere it should alight, Over the horizon of the mountains ;-Oh How beautiful is sunset, when the glow Of Heaven descends upon a land like thee, Thou Paradise of exiles, Italy!
Thy mountains, seas and vineyards and the
Of cities they encircle!-it was ours
To stand on thee, beholding it; and then, Just where we had dismounted, the Count's men Were waiting for us with the gondola.- As those who pause on some delightful way Though bent on pleasant pilgrimage, we stood Looking upon the evening and the flood Which lay between the city and the shore Paved with the image of the sky... the hoar And aëry Alps towards the North appeared Through mist, an heaven-sustaining bulwark reared
69 Between the East and West; and half the sky Was roofed with clouds of rich emblazonry, Dark purple at the zenith, which still grew Down the steep West into a wondrous hue Brighter than burning gold, even to the rent Where the swift sun yet paused in his descent Among the many-folded hills: they were Those famous Euganean hills, which bear As seen from Lido through the harbour piles The likeness of a clump of peaked isles- And then- -as if the Earth and Sea had been 80 Dissolved into one lake of fire, were seen Those mountains towering as from waves of flame
Around the vaporous sun, from which there
The inmost purple spirit of light, and made Their very peaks transparent. 'Ere it fade,"
Said my companion, "I will show you soon
A better station ". -so, o'er the lagune
We glided, and from that funereal bark
I leaned, and saw the city, and could mark How from their many isles in evening's gleam Its temples and its palaces did seem Like fabrics of enchantment piled to Heaven. I was about to speak, when-" We are even "Now at the point I meant," said Maddalo, And bade the gondolieri cease to row.
Look Julian on the west, and listen well “If you hear not a deep and heavy bell.” I looked, and saw between us and the sun A building on an island; such a one
age to age might add, for uses vile, A windowless, deformed and dreary pile; And on the top an open tower, where hung A bell, which in the radiance swayed and
We could just hear its hoarse and iron tongue: The broad sun sunk behind it, and it tolled In strong and black relief.- What we behold "Shall be the madhouse and its belfry tower," Said Maddalo, and ever at this hour
Those who may cross the water hear that bell, Which calls the maniacs each one from his
As much skill as need to pray "In thanks or hope for their dark lot have
"To their stern maker," I replied.
You talk as in years past," said Maddalo.
'Tis strange men change not. You were ever
Among Christ's flock a perilous infidel,
"A wolf for the meek lambs-if you can't
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