DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.55699#0051
VENICE-THE BALBI PALACE.
31
Come on, fair girl, and let us skim
The ocean’s bright blue heaving bosom,
Forgetting old November dim,
The winter pale, the snow-drop’s blossom;
Wild myrtles and the palms are near us,
So thither let our boatman steer us.
What, ho I row on, our gondolier!
Row on across the shining waters !
Behold where Mestre’s lands are near,
And near are Padua’s dark-eyed daughters.
Row on !—yet stay; we will not leave
A place where love has learned to grieve.
Look I through that carved arch, that binds
The palace to the dungeon’s heart,
(Like ties which link unfitted minds),
Hath pass’d how many a trembling heart!
Brave picture ’tis ! Fine marriage made
Between the sunshine and the shade!
Is’t then a picture ? Ay; but such
As men strike out in glittering hours;
This side dashed in with stormy touch,
That flooded with the sunset hours:
A picture?—ay, ’tis one divine;
Prout wrought it, and he made it—mine!
B. C.
31
Come on, fair girl, and let us skim
The ocean’s bright blue heaving bosom,
Forgetting old November dim,
The winter pale, the snow-drop’s blossom;
Wild myrtles and the palms are near us,
So thither let our boatman steer us.
What, ho I row on, our gondolier!
Row on across the shining waters !
Behold where Mestre’s lands are near,
And near are Padua’s dark-eyed daughters.
Row on !—yet stay; we will not leave
A place where love has learned to grieve.
Look I through that carved arch, that binds
The palace to the dungeon’s heart,
(Like ties which link unfitted minds),
Hath pass’d how many a trembling heart!
Brave picture ’tis ! Fine marriage made
Between the sunshine and the shade!
Is’t then a picture ? Ay; but such
As men strike out in glittering hours;
This side dashed in with stormy touch,
That flooded with the sunset hours:
A picture?—ay, ’tis one divine;
Prout wrought it, and he made it—mine!
B. C.